After Dawn
by Chaos Productions
Summary: The thing about unthinkable events is that they have a bad habit of happening anyway - the Holy Grail War stands testament to this. But when another unthinkable event renders even the War obsolete, and throws humanity into a state never before seen, it is time for Masters and Servants new and old to realize: This is not another War - this is the world in the wake of The End.
1. Chapter 1

**After Dusk  
Prologue (Part I)**

**Disclaimer**_**:**_I do not own Fate/Stay Night or any form of media associated with it. I am not using this work of fan fiction for any form of profit or compensation, and if the day comes that I do I hope to be run over by a bus and forcibly removed by a streetsweeper.

**A/N: **Okay… This is scary. Just a quick note: This part of the prologue doesn't _directly_ focus on the FSN gang – it's just part of the build-up leading to what's going to happen. The next part of the prologue (more FSN-centric) should be up within the hour. So **Be Warned**: This chapter focuses on two OC's. Shirou and the gang are coming next chapter.

* * *

"That was _pointless_…"

A gruff voice echoed off steel walls coated with dim, fluorescent lighting as two figures strode down a frighteningly military-looking hallway. Steel girders, pipes, grates, hydraulics, cameras, sensors – they were abundant in the lifeless, dull passageway, the low hum of moving mechanical components filling the gaps between loud footsteps and arguing voices with an eerie, barely audible stream of sound. These two figures were moving with a purpose – there was no poise, no grace, no haughtiness or composure in their postures, and their faces were etched with worry, anxiety, regret and fear – fear for what was coming, fear for lack of knowledge, of surety, of even the slightest semblance of _common sense_ that could explain their predicaments… And fear for the future, fear for whether their actions truly were for better or for worse.

"Thirteen men hospitalized and one _dead_ to take the Servant," the same gruff voice spoke again. "Might've been more if that redheaded kid actually attacked." The cold silence of the long passageway made it excruciatingly clear – there was much resentment in the low growl the figure used to speak. "And it might've been _even_ _more_ if that little toy of yours _didn't_ work the way you hoped…"

"The end justified the means," the second figure spoke up, his voice a sharp contrast to his companion. Where one voice was gruff, accusatory and downright venomous, the other was calm, smooth and collected. "Those men fought the Saber servant for a noble, valiant cause, and-"

"Your _fucked up_ dreams are hardly a 'noble and valiant' cause!" The gruff voice all but spat at the other figure. "You're not even sure if it _was_ a dream! For all I know you could have been _shitfaced _when you saw it…"

They finally stopped under one of the brighter tubes of lighting. Their voices were not the only contrasts – the men seemed to be from two different lives. One was dressed sharply in a white business suit, his greying hair flicked back, his tie hanging loose around an open collar, while the other's attire screamed soldier, mercenary, _killer_. Kevlar and camouflaged clothing decorated his foreign frame, a large pistol hanging in a hip holster and a heavily customized rifle resting on his back. Indeed, these figures were two sides of the same coin - two men from two different classes of society, sharing the same goals.

"I understand your anger, Donovan." The sharp-dressed man's voice held faint traces of sympathy – a hollow sound at the end of each word, making them sound strained, but the figure still kept his words void of emotion. "Those men were brave – exceptionally brave. To stand against a Servant like the Saber with nothing but M16's and concussion grenades is something even daredevils would find foolish-"

"You're not _helping!_"

"-However," the composed figure spoke through the interruption, "each and every one of those men accepted their orders with stone-faced courage and determination. They were loyal to our cause. They were loyal to _you_, even if it meant staring down the Saber, even if it meant _Gilgamesh himself_ was scarcely half a mile away." He sighed. "There were _two_ Servants left, Donovan. Three if you count our friend, the 'Golden King'. Those men were told to storm a battlefield right when the brutality was at its apex, and yet they did not waver." He looked over to the soldier, Donovan. "Their trust in the technology we are developing was simply that strong." He frowned. "It bothers me that you cannot have the same faith."

"Well forgive me, _sir_," the title Donovan spat was laced with sarcasm, "but it's kinda difficult to have 'faith' in something you're rushing because of a scotch-induced nightmare!" He growled. "You were basing the odds of the success of the operation on a gambit, Conrad! On a game of _chance!"_

"A game of chance that we _won_!"

"_That doesn't matter!"_ Donovan's voice finally blasted from his throat, a harsh shout filled with anger and resent. "We were supposed to _wait! _For even more Grail Wars! This technology is _years_ too young for you to be spewing _bullshit_ about success!" His hands started to tremble as rage overtook his body. "Every little part of this half-assed plan is based on one of your little gambits! Half the tech you're bragging about hasn't even entered _testing_ yet! What if your little Taser actually _killed_ the lass?"

"It's not a Taser-"

"_**For fuck's sakes!**_" A loud thud echoed through the narrow passageway, prompting the man called Conrad to turn around. His eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Donovan's bleeding fist slammed squarely onto one of the pipes running along the walls. "_Do you have _any_ kind of soul in you, you demented bastard?!_" Donovan's eyes were filled with hatred – hatred directed right at his well-dressed counterpart. "I need to go find that dead soldier's family – I need to tell his wife and sons and daughters that he's _not coming back_, and all you could give a flying fuck about is what I call your toys?!" He shouted. "Have you become the most fucked-up cunt _alive?!_**"**

He could see the soldier was looking for a response. Not just any response, either – Donovan wanted anger, malice, hatred, resentment, _anything_ to show him the man he partnered with was still _sane_. The bleeding fist stood as proof of that – in mere minutes, it seemed Conrad had pushed his business partner of almost ten years right over the edge. He sighed sullenly – Conrad always knew some soldiers among the mercenaries he had hired would show some form of disagreement with his attitude as he drew closer to his ultimate goal. But to see Donovan of all people, the very Captain he served with in Vietnam, draw _so close_ to shooting him on the spot… That was something he never anticipated.

"…Do you think this is easy for me, Donnie?" Conrad spoke softly, still trying his best to keep his voice emotionless. Despite his efforts, however, he could see the surprise on his mercenary friend's face. He could see the hardened soldier's posture slacken slightly at the use of the nickname he hadn't used since the NVA ended their tour of duty at Khe Sanh. "Did you even see the Servant? Did you see the Master, and the rest? The Matou girl, the Einzbern… Did you see them, Donnie? Did you see how _young_ they were?" Conrad asked. Despite the calm façade he kept plastered on his face, he could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. Despite his plain, stony face he was being bombarded by grief and guilt. "Did you even _hear_ about the interactions between the Saber and her Master? Do have _any idea_ how difficult it is to deny them their future?!"

Conrad immediately cursed himself for letting even a shred of emotion get the best of him – he had heard his own voice crack at the end of his question with such clarity that he could _swear_ it sounded as though a bone close to his ear had snapped. Slowly, his hand drifted to his tie, his fingers working past the fabrics until they came to rest on warm steel – a small, ornate silver cross. His hand retreated back to his side the minute he felt the outline of the symbol – he absolutely could not afford to show any emotion at this stage.

Slowly, he turned away from his friend. "In any case, the darts are a success. The Saber servant outlasted each of our estimates, but she fell eventually. That's as much of a sign as I need." He sighed again, a weary exhale. "It's good enough. I'm authorizing the activation of Subsidium circulation in the servants, and the use of our dampeners on all subjects related to any form of magic."

Conrad did not even need to prepare himself – he had expected Donovan to sigh dejectedly at his choice as soon as he had started to speak about his decision. There was no way in heaven, hell or pandemonium that the ex-soldier would stand for his decision. Friends or not, he knew Donovan would be going for his sidearm right about now… And oddly enough, Conrad didn't blame him. He was authorizing the use of a potent synthetic drug that had scarcely entered any form of testing – one that had been completed hardly _one week_ ago, _**and**_ he was also planning on connecting disadvantageous, untested, _prototype_ technology to a vast majority of the people he had seized. The risks were extreme – the tech would interact with _everything_; bodily functions, skeletal structure, pulse rates, hell, the entire nervous system would be bound to the dampeners – but it was still a prototype. Untested, unused, un_safe_ – basically a death sentence… And he had absolutely _no_ idea whether it could work on the Servants. They were spirits, after all – he didn't know if they even _had_ actual nervous systems despite all the research his scientists did. He was smart, but he could not _dream_ to fathom every little thing the scientists had told him. He could not dream to fathom the Grail War in general.

And yet, here he had just decided to use it anyway. No estimates, no procedures, no failsafes, no insurances… And he still decided to authorize it.

As if on cue, Conrad heard the ever familiar sound of steel on fibre; he didn't even need to turn around. He _knew_ Donovan was standing with his sidearm in hand. Even if he'd expected it for months, it was still as though a dagger had been driven right into his heart – one of his oldest and dearest friends was now pointing one of the world's strongest handguns at him.

"_No._"

Donovan only said one word, but it spoke volumes to Conrad. "I don't care _how_ scared you are after you saw that dream… I don't care how sure you are about the success of your simple little toys… If the Subsidium is a failure… If the dampeners are failures… Then you're sentencing _hundreds_ to death!" Donovan was yelling now. His thunderous voice still made Conrad flinch slightly. "I don't know what happened to you, Conrad…" He said mournfully. "I don't know what you saw in that dream that _scared_ you so much… But with the choices you're making now?" He said with a pleading voice. "Authorizing use of a substance that could _kill _the Servants themselves if it fails? Use of tech that could render innocent people – _children_ – cripple, catatonic or _brain dead_ with no hope of help?" Conrad could hear the sorrow in Donovan's voice. "For fuck's sakes, Conrad, the Saber servant looks no older than _sixteen_!"

"She can worry about her growth when she wakes up."

He simply _could not_ lose face now. Conrad _knew_ his comment would sting worse than any bullet. He _knew_ he had just killed himself in the eyes of one of his only friends, simply by saying something so cold and heartless. He knew he was mere _seconds_ away from getting a forty-four round plugged into his spine. And yet…

He could not waver.

He could not show emotion.

He could not be weak.

He _could not back down_ – not _now_, when he was sure the end was so close he could literally _foresee_ where the catastrophes would hit.

_So this is the price…_ He thought as his hand reached into his coat. Despite his willpower, despite his _need_ to keep a straight face, despite the irony not being lost on him, he felt a single tear roll down his cheek. His age-old enemy - the pious group of miscreants who called themselves the "Burning Dusk" were poised to try and exterminate all life on the planet – without mercy, without pause, without _sanity_ – and he was the only one who knew what they could do with such a paradoxical youngster leading them in secrecy for years. He had depleted his family's funds for the research, the technology, the _slightest chance_ of having people survive the Dusk's malicious plans. His wife had left him barely a month ago, and his own daughter hated his guts. And now… Now his best friend was aiming a one-hit ticket to Hell at his back. _To defeat a monster… Do I really need to become one?_ He grimaced as his hand wrapped around the ivory grips of the small pistol he kept in the shoulder holster.

He'd never thought about using it on someone who was, once, so close to him. He was advised to invest in a small, deadly firearm due to being part of such a wealthy heritage, and to him, the PPK he was holding now seemed ideal. But now… The mere thought of aiming it at a comrade he had known since boot camp made him struggle against the sudden urge to toss it away, to draw it and throw it down the hallway and wait for the inevitable end when the magnum round ripped through his back.

But he had come too far.

Too close to his goal.

And now… Now he was far too desperate.

Conrad thought back to the dream that spooked him like this – he remembered seeing two armour-clad knights exchanging blows in a ruined town, two Servants unknown to all trading slashes and stabs as their masters, faceless fodder hidden in shadows, barked commands at them from afar. He remembered the ferocity with which the knights fought, he remembered each swing and each stab delivered solely to kill the opponent – and the he remembered the bombs.

He remembered the fear-inducing suns erupting among buildings everywhere. Skyscrapers, supermarkets, office buildings, hospitals, _homes_ – all were torn apart in the bloodthirsty waves of death and decay spread by the missiles. He remembered the mushroom clouds towering high into the sky – so close to each other that each land, each country, seemed like an orchard of such clouds… There was no escape. Mothers clutched at their children as skin and flesh turned to ash, men ran futilely as the wave of death tore them apart and reduced them to cinders. He remembered himself watching from afar. The Pentagon was reduced to a smouldering crater, and the White House stained black with ash. The Eiffel Tower toppled mere moments after the first bombs shook Paris, and the Buckingham Palace crumbled before even the most important people inside realized what was happening. He saw men and women in lavish black and red robes laughing and spreading their arms as the nuclear fire engulfed them – they sang in triumph until the blasts took their throats and even then, kept twirling and dancing until their bodies were nothing but brittle coal and bone. He could have sworn he had heard everyone on earth cry out in unison, a pained cry to pose as the whimper that echoed after the bang that ended the world.

To any normal person this would be a nightmare, a bad dream that should be shaken off, but Conrad was everything but normal. "Magic" in his family had died out almost ten generations ago, but the knowledge remained. The knowledge was his power, his food, his weapon-…

… And that dream was the embodiment of a fall from grace, from standing, a death by starvation, or the ever damning _click_ of a gun without ammunition.

That dream had haunted him around every corner. It taunted him in everything he did since it ripped him from his sleep, and even now, the strain from the fear was evident on his face. Rings under his eyes vainly covered by make-up, gaunt cheeks hidden by a thick layer of stubble and a weakened body hidden under lavish suits.

The dream had cost him everything – his wife, his daughter, his riches… The only things he had left were the mercenaries staying by his side through sheer loyalty and the knowledge he had gained. The dream had even cost him most of his friends – many claimed he was crazy, others claimed he was an addict. Their excuses all differed, but they all left all the same. He had only friend left now – and he did not remember when he had turned and aimed, but he realized he was now aiming his PPK right at him. Conrad and Donovan stood with their sidearms aimed right between each other's eyes… And with faint dismay and a blow to the little hope he had left, Conrad realized the small German handgun in his hand looked absolutely _ridiculous_ compared to the massive Desert Eagle Donovan was holding.

"I stood with you through everything, Conrad…" Donovan's voice sounds hollow; his eyes are wet, but he refuses to let any tears fall. "I stood by your side at Khe Sanh… I risked prison to save you from the scumbags who went after your money… I stood next to you, _vouched_ for you when you went to meet these mercenaries and I kept telling them you were a wonderful person, even when I had my doubts. I let you send thirty men on a suicide mission against _Saber _of all people, just to test something as simple as an advanced Taser… But I can't stand with you now, mate. I can't stand by and watch you play Russian Roulette with these people's lives." The expression on Donovan's face was the most sombre expression Conrad had ever seen. "You said it yourself… They're young… The chances of them all dying are through the fucking roof." Donovan frowned. "The Conrad I knew wouldn't do something like this… Please, _please_, don't do this…"

As if the words alone weren't bad enough, the sheer hopelessness and sorrow in Donovan's voice just added to the weight on Conrad's shoulders. He knew the risks were astronomical – even if the dampeners weren't effective on the Servants, if it killed the Masters, his last hope of a fighting force for the future would be shattered before the first bomb even _launched_. The sheer idea of such a thing happening made his knees tremble…

…And to make matters worse, his best friend was begging him to let go of his goal.

He cast a final glance as his old companion. He saw sadness, terror, hope, anxiety – every possible emotion Conrad kept hidden was evident in Donovan's eyes. It very nearly made him break – it almost made him drop his gun and fall to his knees. He'd been keeping his emotions under lock and key since his wife labelled him a freak and his daughter told him that she hated him – and that lock was _dangerously_ close to breaking.

Then the explosions, the death, the destruction and the mushroom clouds flitted across his mind's eye once more, and again he realized:

He was too close.

He had sacrificed too much.

And he had come _too far_ to let go.

He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, just long enough to steel his thoughts and steady his emotional state. It seemed like a blink to his comrade, but that blink was all Conrad needed. He opened his eyes once more, and saw Donovan recoil slightly, the barrel of the Desert Eagle dropping by a centimetre or two. It was a success – he had hidden his emotions once again… And once more, he steeled his voice, beckoned to the obscenely large handgun and spoke:

"I _really_ don't know how you find that useful..."

A simple statement. One delivered in such a dull tone that Conrad _himself_ almost believed he was soulless – and the reaction was exactly what he had desperately wanted. Donovan looked as though he had been slapped – a look of confusion, hopelessness and sheer terror was etched on the grizzled veteran's face. What seemed like a random comment had proved to the mercenary that his friend was too far gone – there wasn't even a hint of acknowledgement directed at his begging and pleading. "Not what you wanted to hear?" Conrad asked, forcing himself to grin haughtily, enduring the pain such an action caused him.

Donovan's lips trembled slightly, and Conrad saw something he never thought he'd see: The retired Master Sergeant, veteran of the Vietnam War, the man who'd seen every terror war could ever offer, let a tear roll down into his beard for the first time since Conrad had known him. The look of sheer, heartrending sorrow only persisted a second or two – Donovan steeled his face soon after, and opened his mouth to speak.

"No…" He spoke, "it's not what I wanted to hear…" He closed his eyes for the briefest moments, and when he opened them Conrad saw the same fire in the blue irises that he had seen during Khe Sanh. "But it's all I _needed_ to hear."

That was Conrad's signal – for the first time since his wife left him, he prayed – a quick, fleeting sentence: _Forgive me_.

Then he pulled the trigger.

The PPK let out its death-dealing crack in reply – a soft, yet sharp _paff_ that signalled a .380 round blasting forth to end its target's life. Conrad closed his eyes and kept squeezing the nickel trigger. He heard two more of his PPK's shots resonate through the hallway, and the ever familiar _thud_ of the small rounds impacting with the Kevlar vest before he was forced to flinch once more. The chrome-plated Desert Eagle roared in response to the threat, a sound akin to that of a cannon firing in the cramped hallway, and pain exploded in Conrad's chest. The large forty-four magnum round slammed into him with all the force of a freight train, ramming him a pace or two backwards and making his shoulder jerk back. His vision was dominated with white and the wind was taken right out of his lungs – he didn't register the short yelp of pain that escaped his throat; he just knew he had overestimated his tiny PPK, and that it was a mistake that would stop all his plans dead. That realization hurt him more than anything – even more than the magnum round that had ripped through him.

He felt his hold slacken as the PPK started to slide out of his hand, but he was denied any action to try and keep his grip – the Desert Eagle roared again and again, and this time he could not contain the screech of pain the burst out of his mouth as two more forty-fours found their marks; one in his side, one in his shoulder. He felt his knees give way, and just as the sensation of falling overtook him, the large chrome handgun finished the contest of power with a final, deafening retort – a retort that signalled the final bullet…

… A bullet that threw Conrad right off his feet.

It was nothing like he saw in the films. Nothing like he saw in Vietnam. The descent after being shot always looked so slow… In reality it was a frighteningly short trip – the ever-annoying, ever-terrifying feeling of falling followed shortly by the uncomfortable embrace of the cold iron floor. Blood flew from his mouth and wounds when he impacted with the steel grating covering the pipes, and the pain shot through his body quicker than a cold breeze after leaving a warm room. His vision was still obscured by white – his heart was hammering in his ears and his breathing sounded like some kind of grinder.

It was futile, he realized. His PPK did almost nothing to the Kevlar Donovan wore, while the Desert Eagle slapped him around like a ragdoll. Was this how it was going to end? Losing everything, only to greet the Reaper with a mind dominated by pain and a white suit stained red? Were his plans so short lived that they would end before they were even initiated? Conrad gasped slightly, a slightly coy grin appearing on his lips despite the crippling pain he was in. Even if he could fight through this, he wouldn't last very long – he barely lasted the ten minutes' wait for the medics after AK's ripped him up when the NVA charged all those years back. Yes, there was grief… Yes, there was sorrow. He could do _nothing_ to prevent the Burning Dusk's plans. Yet, at the same time… There was joy.

Donovan had stopped him - prevented him from sentencing hundreds of young people to death. Any moment now, Conrad's vision would clear and he'd see Donnie standing over him, triumphant, before ending his miserable existence with a final forty-four. He slowly built up the excitement – he'd wanted to die ever since his own daughter slapped him, and shouted how she hated him. The very fact that he'd be relieved of what he called his duty spurred joy in his heart, despite the fact that it was giving out due to blood loss.

And then that joy turned to ash.

His vision cleared and he saw something that increased his terror tenfold – Donnie was indeed standing over him… But the chrome Desert Eagle lay by Conrad's side, leaving an imprint in the blood. Instead of the normal smoke one would see rising from where a bullet hit Kevlar, Conrad saw – with absolute _horror_ – that the petty .380 rounds from his PPK had punched right through the vest. There were two bullet wounds – both pouring blood onto the olive drab garment; but what terrified Conrad most of all was the fact that the neckline of the vest was a deep crimson hue. With wide eyes, the rich bureaucrat realized that the third shot he fired _did_ find its mark – right below Donovan's throat.

The grizzled veteran swayed slightly – his eyes were laced with pain, and agony, and… _Is that grief?_ Conrad frowned slightly, just as much as his sapping strength could allow. Donovan had done exactly what he had expected – the soldier stood up for his beliefs. He stood up for it with bellowed words, trembling hands and the ever-stinging brass from a forty-four Desert Eagle. Even after _everything_ Conrad had seen the discharged Master Sergeant do in life – the burning huts in Vietnam, the desperate blind-firing in the trenches and the jungle… Even after Donovan had answered the threat of the NVA with nothing more than shouted profanity, a stone-faced expression and a roaring M60… The fact that the veteran mercenary killed his oldest friends in the face of his morals spoke volumes about how much humanity was left in the old man. He had saved hundreds – potentially granted the Emiya boy a less bloody future than Conrad had planned, ensured an extension in the Matou girl's liberation from that worm-infested sack of excrement, and _countless_ other deeds of good will - so why was Conrad's old friend frowning? Why was there grief in his eyes?

… And when did he start crying so openly?

"Don't… Don't tell me you actually regret that…" Even at death's door, Conrad still let a bit of the charisma he'd been granted as a businessman seep into a sarcastic little pre-mortem joke. Even on a pain-laced face, he plastered a cocky grin. He'd always told himself that's how he'd go – with a joke, a grin and, if possible, a bottle of scotch in his hand. "Y-You stopped me Donnie… You s-saved them all… From me…" He started damning himself again when he felt his own tears stinging at his eyes despite the cocky expression he tried to plant on his face. "Y-You stopped mass m-murder, Donnie…" He smiled. "Stopped me from be…becoming a mons-s-ster…"

"…Aye…" Donovan's voice was hollow, raspy, _strained_. The wound was hindering him – and yet he spoke. That was the stubbornness Conrad remembered in the trenches – the boisterous man from Massachusetts yelling at the medics to 'get the fuck away' despite having a gaping hole in his side, courtesy of some cocky fellow with an AK who would, undoubtedly, be meeting the veteran's M60 later on. The memory made Conrad smile – not a haughty smirk or a cocky grin, but an actual smile – for the first time in weeks. "I stopped a monster…

"…but I lost a friend."

Those words dulled everything. The pain from the four gaping wounds in his body, the regret of forcing Donovan so far, even the grief of losing a family that had haunted him for so long, every minute of every day. _I lost a friend…_ It left Conrad gutted, pained, and shattered – and yet… He felt that ever-scarce thread of happiness blooming in him again. He had done everything _– everything _– in his power to alienate everyone he knew. He sent good soldiers, mercenaries with wives and husbands and children – straight to their death against the likes of Gilgamesh, the 'Golden King' and his so-called 'Master'. He discarded every thread of respect he could have for others' lives, and hid every possible symptom of having a soul under business deals and science reports and general harshness towards the researchers dissecting the whole concept of the "Holy Grail War". He'd heard the mercenaries talking about him too many times to remember – and he cheerfully recalled the smirks that grew on his face each time.

"_Ol' man Conrad's a right cunt sometimes…_"

"_He's a bastard, is what he is. But, he's paying well. And the tech he's working on is hot shit._"

"_I simply cannot comprehend how such a snake attained such wealth. It's ludicrous._"

"_Bastard says he's gunna save th' world. Good luck, I say. Saviors aren't fuckin' arseholes."_

"_Y'hear what he's on about? The Holy Grail? Now wonder the shitstain's wife left 'im._"

"_I'm not stayin' for him. Fuck no. I'd rather work for a thug if 'loyalty' was the main factor. He's fillin' my pockets – so long as that's the case, I hate what he hates and I'll shoot what he wants me to shoot, no matter how much I want to introduce him to buckshot._"

"_The man's soulless – one of the biggest motherfuckers I've known in my life. If it weren't for this tech… If it weren't for the Dusk… I'd kill him myself if I got the chance._"

Loyalty to the cause, and not to the one leading it – precisely what Conrad had wanted. He absolutely _could not _afford any affiliates when this was over. He wanted them to hate him – the researchers, the few magic practitioners in the ranks, the soldiers, the engineers… He _needed_ them to hate him. It was that much easier to be a bastard, to be a soulless little cunt when absolutely nobody gave a damn about his reasons and justifications in any case. And yet… Here his oldest friend stood. The man had just shot him four times with one of the strongest pistols in the world…

…And now he felt sorry about it.

Donovan regretted killing him.

Donovan regretted killing a monster.

Donovan regretted killing a _friend_.

And that small little realization was tearing Conrad apart from the inside – just as when he'd lost his daughter.

"Y'think…" Donovan tried speaking again, a small jet of blood shooting from the wound under his throat. He was getting paler by the second, and even through the cargo pants and kneeguards one could see his legs trembling, straining under the weight. "Kidnapping, blackmail, murder, theft… It's been that way for weeks… Y'think you're going to Heaven?"

Conrad laughed despite the pain at the sheer ridiculousness of the question. If it were any other person he'd have thought it to be sarcasm – but Donnie always was such a person. Kill the threats first, and fret about God's forgiveness for a few months afterwards. It had always been that way. Only recently Donovan had come to terms with the fact that, even after 'Nam, bloodlust was something that stayed, that tainted and corrupted. "What does it matter?" Conrad's voice was just a hitch higher than a whisper.

"I know you." Donovan's hands were trembling. More blood squirted from the gaping holes the PPK left, and even after years of business deals and negotiations hindering his instincts as a soldier, Conrad still realized the same thing he was forced to realize in the jungles and trenches of Vietnam: Donovan had scant _seconds_ left. "You won't stay down. It's not like you." The balding veteran's voice was soft as well. "You'll get up. You'll go do what you wanted to do. I couldn't kill a monster… But I tried to kill a friend." Donovan's eyes had lost the fire they had when he had pulled the trigger. There was now nothing but regret and pain in the slowly dulling eyes. "Again… You think you'll go to Heaven?"

"Not a chance…" Conrad himself was surprised at how quickly he rasped his answer. It seemed to have the desired effect though – A brief flicker of light sparked across Donovan's eyes, and he smiled.

"Good… Then I'll pray whatever you do doesn't kill those kids…" He smirked, a smirk that reminded Conrad of the good old days where deals and hijacks were the key threats. The same kind of smirk he wore when he was mouthing off to the Drill Sergeant – and subsequently getting beaten down – and the same kind of smirk he wore each time they repelled the NVA. It was the same smirk he'd often carry when enduring meetings as a bodyguard using sarcasm and feigned obedience, and the same kind he wore when he was Conrad's best man at the wedding.

"And I'll save a spot for you."

The words snapped Conrad right out of his reverie, and with terror, the fallen bureaucrat noticed the last few semblances of life drain leave Donovan's eyes. The mercenary's legs finally gave out after those eyes lost focus – with a soft thud, he dropped to his knees, head still held high despite the absence of life, and tumbled forwards. Conrad felt the grating under him shake as his old friend slammed down, face first. Donovan was dead – he'd tried to kill his friend, and died instead. Conrad slammed his eyes shut when the reality dawned upon him. That boisterous attitude he'd seen in boot camp, the steely determination in the jungles, the stupidly sick sense of humour, and that overwhelming loyalty the man showed even after leaving the army – Conrad would never see that again. His last friend – the only one who believed in him despite his own disbelief – now lay dead beside him… And for what? A dream? Fear? Some group, some cult full of magic worshippers and heretics?

Conrad always had everything he desired in life – ten generations of riches and economic standing ensured that. Yet still, he was constantly told that he'll never know what he truly has until it is gone. He realized he lost the humanity his parents praised when he first killed someone in Vietnam. He realized the support he had from one of his companies only _after_ said company was liquidated. He didn't realize how much he _truly_ cherished his daughter until she had left him. And now…

Now he realized that, despite the hiccups in their friendship, the man he had just killed was as close to him as a brother could ever be.

Images flashed through his head – images of people taken, people coerced, to be placed in large, science-influenced forts. Images of those people after what his scientists called 'something similar to cryostasis' and all the risks it entailed. Images of those people dying from the stasis – unable to resuscitate when each fort's doors finally opened _sometime_ in the future. There were images that yanked at his heart even more – images of the Saber servant and her Master in that graveyard after facing Gilgamesh, just before his men risked their lives to bring them in; images of the young Matou girl, Sakura, crying and begging even the _unarmed scientists_ not to hurt her; images of the young Einzbern and the Tohsaka girl –

_Christ_. Conrad's eyes flew open. _Rin Tohsaka_. It had been almost a day since his mercenaries had procured Saber and her Master – but he had heard _nothing_ of the squad he sent to retrieve Rin. He'd taken every precaution in case the false priest beat him to the punch when he gave the order to find her a few hours before his men moved on Saber. He'd outfitted them in such manners that could make even S.A.S operatives jealous; state-of-the-art Kevlar, thermal and night optics for their gas masks, grenades, flashbangs, Bouncing Betties, CornerShots – every possible useful piece of equipment had been given to them to ensure the safe retrieval of Rin Tohsaka. _And I still haven't heard from them…_

The implications were all too easy to deduce. Did the Priest already kill her when the squad got there? Did Gilgamesh pitch up and curb-stomp his forces? Or did they succeed, and was she now being brought from Fuyuki as well?

Slowly, Conrad tried to edge himself into moving. The Tohsaka girl mattered to Emiya just as much as Saber and Sakura – it was heartless to cast him into the future without his consent, but to do so without anyone close to him to help him, to keep him company after the missiles fell? That… That was inhumane.

The ironies surrounding his stress weren't lost on him. Even as he struggled to make his shredded body move, he damned himself once more. Donovan was right. Conrad had just seen his only remaining friend _die_ from a bullet _he_ fired, and he was _still_ planning to continue with his ludicrous plan. Had he gotten so used to the idea of this hellish act that he was too far gone to stop himself? Were the lives of everyone he'd sealed away – women, children, and elders – worth so little to him? Maybe he truly _had_ become soulless, despite the tear trails on his face and the guilt gnawing at his heart. Maybe he'd truly dropped all his ideals and standards – the man who, in the past, fought viciously for what he believed in, and used his economic standing to ensure that the _right_ thing was done, even if it was not the _desirable_ thing… Was that man dead?

Was he doing this for nothing but his loathing of a cult?

Was the dream simply a visage from the scotch he binged on before it woke him up in a cold sweat?

Everything he was doing – sentencing people to an uncertain fate, treating all his employees like filth, squandering his fortunes in a rush… Killing _his own friend_ in cold blood…

Was he doing this simply for the sake of doing it?

That little doubt alone made his strength leave him. In the past, the idea of the dream meaning nothing simply annoyed him. Now, when he had come so far, when he had ruined so many lives… Now the thought of the dream being just that _terrified_ him. He'd kidnapped people, blackmailed people, subjected the last Servant alive to the pain of a Spinal Clamp – _fourteen_ to be precise – and maybe, just maybe, sent a platoon of mercenaries to their deaths – and the chance was there that it was _all in vain_.

The thought made him shudder as he closed his eyes again. His heart started beating wildly, hammering into his ears and punching pain into his chest with every audible _thump_. It could not have been in vain – it simply could not be. It _**was not**_ a regular dream, he could swear it! He'd swear it in front of God himself if he had to! He'd had plenty of nightmares before – nobody walked away from Vietnam mentally unscathed. But that dream… That dream had _something_ else, something the other nightmares never had. Throughout the unholy visage, Conrad heard _something_ in the back of his head, an unnatural _urge_ to shrink, to fall to his knees and cower as though he faced Hell itself. The dream of the end shook him to his very core – even the start, where he saw the two unnamed warriors and their masters clash, he felt _something_ in him that dominated him, overtook control of what he felt and what he thought and filled it with nothing but sheer, unadulterated hopelessness, terror and pain.

…Such a thing simply _could not_ be induced by a bottle of scotch or two.

He knew the cult. He knew about the Burning Dusk. He knew they operated in secrecy – using catastrophes like hurricanes and the fall of the World Trade Center to draw attention off their operations, operations that sickened him to his core. Human sacrifices, brainwashing, Typhoid Mary disease carriers – most of what people would pass off as psychological problems – were all part of the Dusk's repertoire of dark tricks. They even had a magic practitioner or two.

And after what he saw the Dusk do… There was _no way_ that his dream was some kind of hallucination.

He closed his eyes again – the chest that had swollen with such a sense of urgency at the Tohsaka girl's unknown fate and the minute possibility of his acts being vain deflated once again. What could he do now? He was closer to a _corpse_ than a simple old timer – true, Donovan didn't exactly aim precisely during their little Mexican Standoff, but four magnum rounds tend to do _much _more than give someone a slight limp. But he would not try to fool himself – he was bleeding more than an amputee and his insides resembled barbed wire. The forty-fours shredded skin, flesh, muscle and bone – each one had torn right through him as though he were made of paper.

Conrad frowned slightly. This seemed a lot like one of those 'life flashing before your eyes' moments. Why is it only on his _deathbed_ that he considers all his actions? He wished Donovan was alive just a bit longer – with just a bit more strength. That way his old friend could plant a final forty-four into his skull and end his doubts. He sighed softly. The drive he had when he'd aimed his PPK at his friend was gone. The personnel in the fort awaited his order, after all – without him there, they might as well set the Servant and her Master free. It started to seem like the logical conclusion to him.

He tried.

That was all that mattered. He tried to avert a possible – _possible_ – future that he saw in a dream, and he failed. '_Leave well enough alone_', his father would always say – and Conrad was very tempted to do just so. His eyelids were becoming heavy, his breathing was becoming shallow and his whole body was becoming numb. Rest sounded… absolutely wonderful. His mind was a mess of doubt and logic, and his body, an amalgam of pain and creeping death. Even if he closed his eyes, for just a few seconds, he could cast it all away and-

A foul laughter filtered through his ears the moment he closed his eyes. Even in its half dead state his body tensed – his eyes were closed, yet his mind was _filled_ with images. An ominous figure stood laughing, his pale face shadowed by the hood of the ornate black and red robes adorning his body. He was laughing in a terrible manner; an _inhuman_ manner – there was no joy or pride or scorn in it… There was only madness… madness and the ever visible signs of bloodlust. In one hand the figure held a kriss-like dagger, curved and doused in blood, and in the other hand, an old Beretta pistol, with its slide locked back and smoke coming from its barrel. At his feet lay the bodies of the dead – men, women, children, _newborns_, their throats slashed messily or their skulls shattered by lead. The figure continued his madness-induced hysteria – and then, almost as suddenly as the images themselves came, a loud _boom_ made Conrad's neck twitch as the visions in his head were dominated by fire. The buildings around the figure crumbled – turned to ash as mushroom clouds rose from their ruins. The figure's robes were incinerated, and his body turned to cinders…

And yet, his laugh continued.

Conrad's eyes flew open. That was _no_ dream – that was a premonition. The Dusk _was_ making a move, and they were going _straight_ for the king – pawns and rooks be damned. Could this be their master plan? Could they really have acquired nuclear ordnance while he was focusing on their more morbid distractions? He _knew_ the Dusk was ever-growing – there were members _everywhere_. But nuclear missiles…

Yes. It had to be. There simply was no other explanation. His grandfather spoke the truth when he told Conrad about the Burning Dusk – they were nothing but zealous extremists following a madman who wanted _nothing_ more than to see every shred of life on earth trampled, powdered and spread to the winds – including himself. They did not have the numbers for war, but they had _influence_ – enough influence to obtain even a truckload of nukes. _This_ was their master plan. _This _was their way of not only attacking, but going right for the throat. _This _was what Conrad prepared for.

And to think: He almost let himself die.

Conrad frowned – renewed strength coursing through his wreck of a body. It was still numb – he had trouble clenching his fists and sitting upright, so he would make do. He grabbed hold of his tie and ripped it off; it took a few tugs, but eventually success came to him. With fire in his eyes he shoved the tie into his mouth and bit down. This was going to be painful.

_I did __**not**__ come this far… to greet the Reaper… having achieved __**nothing**__!_

Pain shot through his body as he swung himself onto his stomach. His clenched fists were almost useless, but they'd do for this purpose. He planted one fist onto the steel grating and pushed, forcing himself up. His vision was swiftly dominated by white – shredded organs and chipped bones vehemently protested his movement. He _should not_ have been moving in the first place. He should have been dead – reality prescribed death to _anyone_ plugged four times by a Desert Eagle.

But this once, _just_ this once, reality took a backseat.

He had his motivation back. Despite the lack of blood in his body, the fire was back in his eyes. He was _not _mistaken. He was _not _defeated yet… And he sure as hell was not going to back down now. His free hand shot out, fingers wrapping around the grip of the chrome handgun Donovan dropped. Eight bullets… Four discharged, four left – just in case someone didn't want to let him die when this was over. He _knew_ his time was limited, almost laughably so. But death could wait. The Reaper could wait. Even God and His judgement could wait – wait until _he_ was done. He was still going to do what he had planned – nobody would listen to him now, but he could still do the world a favour. The masters, the servants, the magic users – he'd have them all saved so they could one day, just maybe, help to rebuild the destruction that damned cult would leave in its wake.

Yes, he was going to do as he originally planned. Just as Donovan said he would. But that didn't mean he couldn't set his other errors right. Shirou Emiya… Sakura Matou… Even Arturia Pendragon, as hard it was to believe - they were about to be cast into an uncertain future.

The least he could do was set a few things right before that happened.

* * *

**A/N: **And this one's done! Whew. That was... Scary, to be honest. I'm terrified of writing this story because I'm new to the fandom, but it's one of those ideas that just won't let go. So let's see how it turns out. As you might have realized my chapters turn out to be almost excessively long... So please bear with me.

Next Chapter: The truth will out! What does Conrad _really_ want with Shirou and the gang?

Thanks a lot for reading - I sincerely hope that, despite it being long-winded and focusing on OC's, it was till a good read.  
-Chaos.


	2. Chapter 2

**After Dawn  
Prologue (Part II)**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Fate/Stay Night. If I did I would most likely ruin the series and get lynched by an angry mob. I am not using this story for profit or compensation of any form, and if the day comes that I _do_ I hope to be flogged with a battleaxe repeatedly.

**A/N:** And here we go – finally, the part of the prologue that focuses on the gang. Part 1 was very OC-centric, I know. But it'll start to focus more on Shirou and the gang from here on out.

Note: This starts at the cemetery scene in the Fate route. Just thought I'd clear that up.

* * *

They'd been blindsided. Shirou Emiya frowned slightly as he thought back to the cemetery.

"_Let's destroy the Holy Grail._"

That memory seemed distant now. He did his best to hide his discomfort, his worry, his _fear_ – he needed to be strong now, strong and calm, but… He simply could not contain his anger. He looked down at himself – bare chested, suspended in some kind of metal pod with a whole mess of wires, drips and monitors connected to his body as though it were some kind of harshly exaggerated copy of his stay at the hospital when he was younger. They were smart, he realized with gritted teeth. They must have seen him projecting Saber's sword in the past, because even his fingers were tied down. Well, the fingers that _weren't_ covered by the cast on his arm were tied down. And even then, the cast was secured as well.

He slowly turned his head to the pods beside him. His reasons for worrying rested beside him – Sakura was suspended in a capsule of her own, her face pale with fear, her eyes darting from side to side as she tried to fathom the cylindrical room they were in. Every now and then a fearful whimper would escape her lips when an armed guard strode past, and even though the rest of the personnel were busying themselves with medical equipment and scanners and monitors and screens and radios, he could _see_ that they also frightened here – possibly even more than the guards themselves. He remembered a few nurses coming over and speaking to her, trying to calm her down. They asked her the normal questions, what her name was, how her life was, and all that other clichéd nonsense, but Sakura's voice kept quivering. Occasionally he'd whisper to her, tell her that he was there for her and that everything would be okay, but… it seemed as though it was ineffective.

He softly called to her again, nothing but a whisper – he didn't want any guards focusing on her. He didn't want them to make her any more nervous and scared than she already was. Sakura's head jerked towards him, as though his voice itself gave her a fright. The girl had tears threatening to spill from her eyes and her lip was quivering ever so slightly – two things that only served to infuriate him even more. He and Saber had been apprehended in a straight-on fight, but he could only imagine how she'd been captured – did they kick down the doors and drag her out, kicking and screaming?

"It's going to be all right…" He said softly. He honestly didn't know what else to say. "They won't hurt us. I promise." He based his words off a conclusion – if these men had wanted them dead, they'd have killed them already. The nurses seemed kind, the radio operators would flash an occasional warm smile at them and even the armed guards seemed to treat them gently whenever their bounds were tightened or loosened.

"…I-I'm scared…" Sakura's voice was barely audible. Her hands were shaking viciously in their bounds – so much that the iron clasps were rattling against the steel of the capsule. Her breaths were rapid and shallow and the poor girl looked as though she were about to faint.

"Don't be." Shirou tried putting on the warmest smile he could. "They won't hurt you. I won't _let_ them hurt you – I promise." He _knew_ the words were quite hollow, but he needed to comfort her in some way. In his current state he couldn't do much – he was still weak and numb from the narcotics. But if they even _dared_ to lay a hand on Sakura…

He'd break out. He didn't know how, but he would. Even if it meant projecting a blade right into his stomach, what with the way his hands were tied.

Fortunately his words had the intended effect – Sakura's breathing slowed down ever so slightly, and she hung her head, closing her eyes in an effort to calm down. Her hands were still shaking, and she was still pale – and scared – but at least now she had his reassurance… even if it didn't likely mean much. A fleeting movement caught his eye, and he turned his gaze upward. His eyes fell upon a woman sitting at the centre console of the large array of screens and high-tech computers in the middle of the circular room. There were three circular platforms, one stacked onto the other, each lined with consoles, screens, keyboards, projectors – and a massive communications post where the woman sat. Apparently she was the one in charge – he'd heard some of the soldiers refer to her as 'Athena', but that was undoubtedly just a nickname or an alias or something. The shocking thing was that she seemed to hear him speak – and was now wearing a wide smile on her face.

It was baffling, to be honest. The men who apprehended him and Saber were cold – almost scarily so. Tall, imposing, mysterious, stone-faced and unafraid to point those rifles – and by extension, the grenade tubes attached to them – right at his forehead. But here… These people were all kind. Granted, the suits who attacked him were stoic at first, demanding the he 'comply' to their orders and surrender, but that suggestion went to hell as soon as Saber readied her sword. It was as though the people here and the ones who attacked them were from two different worlds. The nurses who treated the bruises on Sakura's arms kept her surprisingly calm despite her fears – warm smiles, encouraging whispers and a very, _very_ gentle touch – one of the nurses even went as far as slapping a guard who made a rude comment about Sakura's shyness. The confusion he felt contributed more to his worry, and to his anger. What did these people _want_ with them?!

The woman called Athena turned her attention back to her screen with a soft chuckle when Shirou's face contorted back into a frown. He looked to his side again – Sakura was _still_ pale and shaking, but her breathing was more controlled. That was good – he felt a wave of relief flow into him at that moment. She was calming down. She was going to be okay.

And then, with a slightly wary movement, he looked past Sakura, to the third, larger, _very_ different capsule – and felt a spark of rage flicker within him again.

Saber was suspended there.

She hung limply, like a puppet – the scars caused by the suits' assault still slightly visible on the skin the white patient's outfit left bare. They were only slight scratches now, granted, but they were so much more during the assault. And… as much as he wanted to deny it…

He contributed to that.

He was the reason she fell during the assault. He remembered it all too vividly – because it was one of the few times he'd actually heard her scream; and not just a slight yelp from a wound either. It was an unrestrained, raw, _bloodcurdling_ scream of pain that damn near made his heart stop. To hear the woman he loved with every fibre of his being scream like that… Even the memory of it made him pale a bit.

Near the end of the fight they had used something he'd never see before – instead of grenades, the tubes slung under the barrels of the rifles fired some kind of stake – a thin, surgical looking spike littered about as big as one's thumb that, he could swear, _screeched_ as it travelled. They were decidedly macabre-looking – he'd learned to fear the sound of one of the grenade tubes discharging near-instantly. He vividly remembered how Saber took up her sword to face the gunmen, her armour appearing in the briefest of flashes. They'd all frowned – something told him, then, when his thoughts weren't clouded by worry or anger that they _knew_ they had no chance. And yet…

They attacked anyway.

* * *

Each rifle discharged in three-round bursts. He remembered ducking behind the tombstones waiting for the hail of shrapnel and shredded stone that was bound to follow – but much to his confusion, he only heard loud _thunk_ sounds each time a bullet impacted. Saber was still above them though – no matter how accurate the gunmen thought they were, Saber was a Servant – something, no, some_one_ beyond even their best equipment. She darted from gunner to gunner almost instantaneously – her speed making each suit cry out in surprise, or fear, or anger, or all three. She was making short work of them – she knew Shirou objected to killing civilians, and even though the suits had started this attack, she still didn't kill them. One poor bastard standing too close to her received the flat side of Excalibur right to the face, and the man next to him had a few teeth knocked out by the hilt almost immediately after. The suits were dropping like flies, cradling broken bones and bleeding limbs while their oddly ineffective bullets bounded off Saber's armour as though they were tossing pebbles at her.

That was when they got desperate – when one of the suits drew a blade and charged right at Shirou.

The suit wasn't Saber, though. He was slow compared to her – his movements were sluggish and his attacks were predictable. In all honesty, he actually thought he'd able to take the man. He certainly didn't _look_ that tough – yet, as always, Saber was one step ahead. The suit's knife impacted with Saber's invisible sword with a loud _clang_, and the colour almost instantly drained from his face when he found Saber a bit more than a foot from him, wearing one of the most intimidating scowls she could. He remembered the suit swearing loudly, glancing back quickly to see whether backup was close.

Sadly, it wasn't. Each of the suits was either down and out or cautiously aiming at the debacle before them, trying not to catch the man in the crossfire. The suit looked back at Saber, the fearful caution on his face contrasting the pure fury on Saber's own. Then he made his biggest mistake:

He drew his sidearm, and tried to aim right at Shirou, despite the fact that he was face-to-face with a Servant.

Naturally it didn't end well for him. He'd barely straightened his arm entirely when Saber's gauntleted hand wrapped around his wrist. The look in her eyes told the poor suit everything he needed to know – that he was going to regret his action; he was going to pay dearly for trying to hurt Shirou, and that it was very likely that, despite Saber sparing all his comrades, _he_ was most likely in for a scare when Shirou would, inevitably, try to convince Saber not to kill him outright. The looks on the other suits' faces said their trains of thought were very, _very_ similar to what was flowing through the thoughts of Saber's captive. The situation looked absolutely dire for the man caught in Saber's vice like grip.

Shirou originally planned to use this as leverage – the other suits obviously valued their comrade, so he could at least use the current situation to try and find who sent them, why they were sent and exactly _why the hell_ they were slinging military-grade rifles at him. He thought the situation was under control – Saber had repelled the attack from the suits, and she had their captain's wrist in her hand, her eyes conveying her threat to break it clean off if any of the other soldiers tried anything. Then, just as he opened his mouth to speak-

A loud _clang_ made him gasp slightly.

Saber flinched, her eyes briefly closing, her lips contorting into a snarl as a short, steel spike slammed into her armour out of nowhere. The surprise attack was enough to make her let go of the suit she had held captive, and she stumbled slightly; her hand reached for the small steel shard, eager to rip it out and introduce the hidden shooter to her blade. Then a loud _beep_ flooded Shirou's ears – and it all went to hell from there.

With nothing but a single flashing light on the shard posing as a warning, it blew apart – parts of the shaft flew sideways, looking like it was meant to disassemble in such a neat fashion; it was as though the shaft was nothing more than a casing pressed together by hand. The small blast was near harmless – it was the _tip_ of the small shard that was the problem. The beep Shirou had heard was a signal – a fleeting confirmation of purpose – just before the steel tip, about as big as his thumb, pounded right through Saber's armour and burrowed into her flesh.

Shirou remembered the wave of fear that swallowed him as he saw the true nature of the shard – scarcely a _second_ after it had punched through her armour he heard the small device go to work: Blue sparks flickered behind the jagged edges of the hole in Saber's armour, making the Servant grit her teeth as a single, thin bolt of electricity flickered up her back for a margin of a second before disappearing. She slumped slightly – the shard was still emitting sparks where it sat, and Shirou could only imagine what it was doing. He _knew_ it had something to do with a jolt or a shock, but he couldn't be sure – and that was what scared him.

Saber clenched her side shortly after. She turned her gaze to the direction of the shot, pain and fury evident in her green eyes as a red dot hovered over forehead. _Wait… a dot? Is that a laser?_ Shirou's eyes flitted to where Saber was looking, and sure enough, there – between the trees and the bushes – he could see the sniper, covered with a suit made of grass and leaves and twigs. His face was the only part visible – and even at that distance, Shirou could see his jaw hanging slack from shock. _Was that… Was that supposed to kill her?!_

"Saber! We need to go!" He tried calling to her. They _had_ to leave – that dart, or shard, or whatever the hell it was obviously caused her a measure of pain; if they stood and fought there was no telling if the sniper would get another lucky shot.

Almost as though he had jinxed himself with the thought, the sniper sprung to action again. The grass-covered rifle steadied, the scope in line with the sharpshooter's eye, and to his despair Shirou noticed a foot-long silencer attached to the barrel. He was aiming at Saber again, the laser pointer hovering mere millimetres below her collarbone, and without as much as a blink, he pulled the trigger. What looked like a mix of mist of smoke followed another shard out of the barrel…

…And with a loud _clang_, it was cleaved cleanly in half.

Saber was hurt, yes, but it didn't look very serious. It seemed the shard was more of a hindrance than an actual wound. She had taken up her stance already, her invisible sword held at the ready as she stared at the sniper and the suits around her with determination and anger. Shirou remembered the leader of the soldiers cussing loudly when he saw the two halves of the dart fall to the ground. "What the fuck are you cocksucks waiting for?! _Shoot!_" The crude order spurred every able suit into action – of all the soldiers who came to apprehend them, about half of them were left, some of the standing, aiming and frowning despite the broken bones Saber's attacks left them with. They didn't even bother pulling the triggers – Saber had already dodged their normal bullets without hindrance. They resorted to using the grenade tubes slung under their rifles – and much to Shirou's worry, those, too, fired the dangerous steel shards.

Not that it posed much of a problem.

The soldiers were aiming haphazardly – the steely resolve they'd had before the fight broke out had crumbled. All that was left was unbridled desperation – and in that desperation's presence, a surprising lack of accuracy.

He steeled his nerves again – poor shooters or not, they had more of those shards, and if more of those hit Saber he had no idea _what_ would happen. He watched her dart from soldier to soldier, occasionally flinching from the steel thorn in her side; her style of fighting was the same as ever – a glinting, steel gust that swept through the enemy ranks felling the opposition at every corner. Even in the face of such threatening firepower, she still moved with the same grace and fluidity she'd showcased in the past, with attacks, dodges and blocks both cautious and daring, her resolve, her focus and her discipline unshakable. Rifles were carved in two and combat knives were batted away as though it was one of the easiest things for her to do. Despite their vicious attacks and the obvious advantage those darts gave them, it was clear the soldiers were fighting a losing battle. The minute they allowed Saber to move, they had pretty much forfeited.

More darts whizzed towards Saber from outside the graveyard – that sniper was back in action. It was time to get the hell out of there – no matter how easy the fight seemed, he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad would happen if they kept fighting. He was already worried sick – only now, he realized his hands were shaking and his mouth was dry. Even while mesmerised by Saber's movements, he was _still_ scared. He'd seen her shrug off wounds that defied any laws of common sense – Lancer's Gae Bolg, Berserker's rampant, mindless, earth-shattering blows, even Gilgamesh's "Enuma Elish"… And yet, she had been pierced – and more importantly, _hurt_, by a simple man-made dart.

Something was _seriously_ wrong.

He glanced over at the sniper. The camouflaged man still had his attention on Saber – he was hardly blinking, timing his shots so they could pierce her at the most crucial times. And yet, she was knocking each and every spike away. Shirou could see frustration knit onto his face as he pulled back the bolt to chamber another dart. This was good – if he was getting reckless, they could get away. "Saber!" He called as loud as he could, already moving back through the rows of tombstones. "We need to leave, _now_!"

Saber shot him the briefest of glances – her green eyes met with his for but a fleeting second, and yet they said _everything_ that needed to be said. She nodded curtly, slamming the flat of her blade against another hapless soldier's head before pulling back, still rolling and dodging low to avoid to the seemingly rubber bullets. Even more clangs filtered into the graveyard as Excalibur batter at another volley of darts. For all their effort, the soldiers' actions were futile.

At least, they were until another soldier drew his sidearm.

It was a lavish little gun – silver with ornate engravings along the slide. The soldier wielding was obviously highly ranked. Despite sitting with his rifle in his right hand, he was effortlessly aiming with his left one – effortlessly aiming _right at _Shirou. _Again?!_ He thought frantically as he froze. He was way too far from any large tombstones to shield him, and he was _directly_ facing the shooter – some of his hope drifted away when he realized he basically had a large target painted on him. The soldier had a look of absolute fury on his face – his frown was so deep it tucked behind the shades he wore, his face was red, the arteries on his temples stood out and he had his teeth bared in a frighteningly vicious fashion. Shirou was too far from him to hear him speak, but the two words that left his mouth were far too easy to read:

'_Fuck this shit_.'

Shirou saw the twitch in the man's trigger finger – the bullet was scant milliseconds away from discharging and ending his life. Only then did he realize they'd pushed the soldiers too far – if they got desperate enough, they'd use live ammo eventually. His heart sank – Saber could dodge bullets, yes, she'd proven so now… But intercepting one… That was a different story entirely. Unconsciously, a low moan of terror leaked from Shirou's mouth as he saw the beginnings of a bright spark in the barrel, even if he was so far away he shouldn't have been able to see it. Was this the end? Was he going to die like this? Just because he wanted to _run_?

The flash grew in intensity –

And just before a loud _bang_ signaled the bullet firing, something heavy crashed into the side of the gun. The discharge still made Shirou jump, and he felt nausea tugging at his insides when he heard the bullet whiz by his ear and embed itself in the tree behind him. He looked at the scene before him with disbelieving eyes – the front part of the custom handgun fell to ground, severed by Excalibur. Saber had not moved instinctively this time – it was a desperate lunge on her part, her blade, framed with droplets of blood, swung overhead in a downward cleave. It had the desired effect – it knocked the gun away just before the bullet discharged, and utterly destroyed it after it had missed. The soldier dropped the now useless gun, his look of sheer fury replaced by one of pure, unbridled terror – Saber had moved quicker than any of their eyes could see, even quicker than the red laser dot could track – and now she was inches away from a man who was likely scant seconds from a grievous wound.

He slowly backed away as he watched the scene unfold. The soldier released a whine of fear as he swung the rifle in his right hand at Saber, hoping to land a lucky blow and escape certain death. It was a futile effort – in one sweeping move, the Servant had batted the weapon out of the soldier's hand, let her strikes flow fluidly…

And drove Excalibur right through the soldier's gut.

There was fury in her eyes. An immeasurable amount of anger unbefitting of her visage – even if she had done her best to avoid fatal wounds during the fight, this man was an exception. She kept her stone-faced glare as the soldier released a howl of agony, his back arching as he slumped on his feet. The scene left Shirou feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of him – that was something he'd _never_ thought she'd do. He _knew_ that, as a Servant, she was bound to kill someone sometime. He'd half been preparing himself to see it happen to Gilgamesh. But to actually see it happen, in front of his eyes, during a fight that she was singlehandedly winning… The nausea tugged at him again, and he felt the sweat form on his forehead. Slowly, Saber started pulling the blade out of the soldier's stomach, the anger in her eyes fading almost immediately – even with her face turned away, Shirou knew she regretted the action. She gripped Excalibur's handle, prepared to rip it out of the man's stomach…

… Only for the soldier to lurch forward, his hands going to wrap around Excalibur's cross-guard in a futile attempt to root her in place.

That was as much warning as he received.

The minute the soldier's hand wrapped around the blood-spattered cross-guard, there was a flicker of red in Shirou's vision; instinctively, his head jerked towards where he saw the sniper –

And once more, he felt terror overwhelm him – the camouflaged sharpshooter was aiming _right between his eyes_.

He could swear Saber _felt_ his despair – she'd gasped loudly even before she turned around, her emerald eyes wider than he'd ever seen them, and for the first time, he saw a mask of absolute horror plastered on her face. She was way too far to knock this gun away – even now, she stood at least thirty feet from him – and even if she could close that gap quickly, she had to waste precious seconds wrenching her sword free from the dying man's grip.

Time seemed to slow for Shirou. He'd hardly had a chance to _think_ of strengthening anything – hardly any chance to _try_ and help Saber fend off the shockingly resilient soldiers. And now… Now he was about to receive a six-inch pen between the eyes. It seemed unfair, really… Surviving encounters with both Lancer and Berserker twice, surviving an encounter with _Gilgamesh himself_ and then escaping from him again shortly after - only to die because of something as mundane as a gun. It was a hopeless case – Saber was caught up and he couldn't _dream_ to dodge a bullet the way she did, especially not one from such a large rifle. He didn't know why, but despite the odds of death occurring in a few seconds he felt compelled to look at Saber again. The look of fear on her face was oddly foreign to him – he hadn't seen it many times. And yet… He was mesmerized again. Even now her beauty amazed him.

The irony wasn't lost on him. It was odd that he'd focus on such a matter with a bullet with his name on it less than a second away. But he figured this sight was worth it; seeing the woman he loved fighting bravely to save him just before he died made him feel-

…_Wh…What?!_

His train of thought stopped immediately, his eyes wide and his jaw hanging slack.

Saber had let go of Excalibur.

She had let go of her legendary blade and was now darting right at him.

And just as she had kicked off into her sprint, the deceptively loud _pshhht_ sound of the silenced rifle discharging jerked his attention back to the sniper. Time slowed even more – he could _see_ the pen moving towards him yet he could not move – his body refused to cooperate. The spike seemed malicious – the tip was pure black and the shaft was littered with small holes. It was the same as the last one, the one that pierced Saber's side; a tip as big as his thumb and sharp enough to blink in the sunlight.

It sped up.

The crawl at which time was moving was speeding up.

This was it.

He was going to-

_Thud_.

His eyes shot open. Blue fabric dominated his vision as a grunt filled his ears. Saber had made it – she'd discarded her sword to ensure his safety, and threw her forearm in the stake's path to stop it. "S…Saber…?" Her brow twitched. The tip of the shard was buried near her elbow, and even though it was a minor wound, the bottom of the blue sleeve was already turning crimson.

He let his instincts take over – he moved to seize her around the waist and drag her away, away from these dangerous weapons, back to his house where she could rest and regain her strength and recover… He cast a quick glance at the sniper, hoping the marksman was as shocked as he was…

…And Shirou noticed the sniper was _smirking_ – just as he slammed the bolt down again.

Both their eyes widened. They'd fallen for it – the soldier Saber had killed gave his life to fool them and they took the bait. Saber tried to move, clenching her teeth as she tried to push Shirou away – just as another shard struck her chest, piercing through the armour with a loud crack. Saber gasped – an expression of pain and shock as she stumbled, her back slamming into Shirou's chest. He moved to carry her, prepared to scoop her up in his arms if he had to… He looked back at the sniper-

-And yet _another_ stake slammed into Saber's stomach.

The sniper was chambering rounds quickly – abnormally quickly. It looked like a twitch of his hand, a random back-and-forth spasm he used to show off before firing each shot. The _psshht_ sound flared again – a lot softer this time, and yet again, smoke followed the bullet.

But the sniper would _not_ get lucky four times in a row.

Saber pushed off Shirou's chest, ignoring the steel shards protruding from her body. She gritted her teeth and growled – a low, threating gesture as she stood her ground, defying the stake of steel flying right at her face. She exhaled, fury etched onto her face as she raised her right hand. A glint in the light was the only trace of the projectile – but the glint was all she needed. Despite the injuries, a single lightning-quick movement was all it took – Saber's gauntleted hand smacked the shard away without a hitch.

Even at this distance, Shirou could see a classical '_Oh-shit_' look flicker across the sniper's face. He quickly scrambled for a spare magazine, briefly shoving the large rifle aside as he toyed with the flak jacket hidden under the grass-suit he wore. A brief respite from the sniper – it was a _godsend_. The soldiers were mostly injured; some were still groaning as they lay on the ground, others still trying to fathom the speed at which Saber had moved to save him. Their movements were sluggish, and their rifles were weighing heavy in their hands. True, Saber had not killed them but, but Shirou _still_ heard bones cracking during her initial attack. This was the _perfect_ chance; all he needed to do was grab Saber and-

_Crack_.

The shafts of the darts blew apart.

Shirou went numb all over.

Several loud _beeps_ filled the air…

And with the same sickening _crunch_ he heard before, all three tips punched into Saber's body.

The reaction shook Shirou right to the very depths of his soul.

Instead of the thin, fleeting arc of electricity the first dart sent up her back, three of them were working in unison now; three slightly thicker arcs shot across her body – one up her arm and two around her chest – and converged in a singular, thick bolt running right down the centre of her back. Instead of a few spitting sparks, the ever-familiar crackle of electricity filtered into the ambience of the graveyard, a loud, sickening whizz that seemed to linger over Saber's spine. Saber gasped loudly – back arched and several loud yelps poured across her lips. Her knees were shaking, her hands were trembling, her eyes were wide and almost rolling back in their sockets and her entire body was jerking under the effects of the bolt of electricity.

Every possible care left Shirou at that moment.

The men with the guns, the sniper struggling to reload his rifle, the fact that Excalibur itself lay discarded somewhere to his left – none of it mattered anymore. Saber was hurt badly – despite her will keeping her firmly on her feet he _knew_ something like this, whatever it was, had to be almost impossibly difficult to resist. Nothing registered anymore – not the fact that they were fleeing from Gilgamesh, not the fact that they'd been ambushed by soldiers, not the fact that he would've _died_ if it had not been for Saber… Each consideration, every recollection left his mind the minute it popped up.

_Saber is in danger_.

Only that thought, that reality, registered to him.

She was in pain.

She was trembling.

She was gasping.

She was breathing raggedly.

…

And the sniper was finally finishing reloading his weapon.

Saber wouldn't reach the sniper in time. Even if she recovered _right now_, she'd have another stake in her chest before she could move. He had no idea what brought on that doubt – he'd seen her face down opponents ranging from Lancer to Berserker to _Gilgamesh _of all people and she still held her own – hell, she even dominated several of the fights he'd seen her partake in. But now…

He had no idea what was causing him to act like this.

He had no idea what was causing these thoughts.

He just knew _something_ in him was screaming at him, roaring in the face of the soldiers and filling him with unshakeable dread – it was as though that voice in the back of his head was urging him to run, to _escape_ with every passing fraction of a second. The sniper was quick and accurate, the grenade tubes those soldiers were using shot the same spikes as the sniper's rifle…

And Saber already had _four_ of those shock-stakes punched into her body.

Common sense left him.

Rationality left him.

_Fear_ left him.

Everything but the basest instincts gripped his body – the snipers, the soldiers, Saber's discarded sword, _nothing _mattered anymore. The soldier's couldn't even _see_ the sword – he could always come back for it. He just needed to evade the sniper – all he needed was to get out of that bastard's sights. With that thought, he closed his eyes, and his arm snaked around Saber's waist. There was a crypt nearby – he'd get there quickly enough if he sprinted. He ignored everything around him – the boisterous soldier bellowing orders at his men, the red dot finally re-entering the battle, not even Saber's disgruntled cry registered in his mind. He scooped her up in his arms and ran.

"What the fuck?!" He heard the wounded soldier yelling as a loud _clang_ signalled Excalibur dropping the floor. "Four? What the fuck _is_ she?!"

He kept running.

"Shirou! - - This is… This is n-needless!" Saber was complaining, struggling to break free of his hold despite the fact that her body was trembling like mad. "I can still fight – and… and…"

Loud _cracks_ made him flinch every time they flowed into his ears – the sniper was firing again, the shards from his silenced rifle embedding themselves into tombstones and memorials around him. He was obviously desperate – as desperate as Shirou was at that stage. At the start of the fight he'd managed to shoot Saber despite the speed she moved at; yet now, he couldn't even snipe a burdened young man. Some shots came close – Shirou stumbled ever so slightly as one of the stakes ripped across his calf, leaving a deep gash there. The loud _cracks_ and _beeps_ signalled the tips of the spikes slamming into whatever surface they were embedded in.

They only served to make him run faster. He was mere _feet_ away from the crypt – the gate was locked, but he could hide out behind it for a few seconds, find something to reinforce that could hold the soldiers at bay… Even a simple branch would do in this case.

"Fuck this…" The brash leader of the suits' voice was still loud, despite the soldiers being a good distance away. "Ready up! Move on my command!" He yelled. "We take them alive – put away those fucking sidearms, maggots! Rubbers _only_! "

_What do they want?!_ Shirou's head was a mess of thoughts as he finally ducked behind the entrance of the crypt. It was small, really, nothing but a wall and a roof around a stairwell leading down to God-knows-where, but it would do. Their pistols had real ammo, he could tell that much – the commander or general or sergeant or _whatever_ was barking at his men to put them away. But their rifles were oddly ineffective. Slowly, he stumbled around looking for something he could strengthen – Saber was getting her second wind, but it would still take a couple of seconds at most. He needed something, _anything_ – a stick, a branch, hell, he'd try his luck with a bunch of _flowers_ some poor widow left behind, but –

"What the _**fuck**_?!"

That didn't sound good.

"_Fucking idiot! __**KID, MOVE!**_"

Was that… Was that directed at him? What, why would he listen to –

And then he saw it. It was small, round, and had rolled to a stop right next to him. His eyes widened. He'd seen enough movies to know what that was.

_Grenade….?!_

Again, his instincts gripped him, his body seemingly moving of its own accord. He grabbed Saber by the wrist, yanked her to her feet despite her protests, and ran –

No.

_Started_ to run.

Now he was flying.

The grenade exploded viciously – dust, sand, fire and shards of rock thrown up in a cloud as its deafening explosion rang through the cemetery. Oddly Shirou only heard part of the sound of it – a sharp, loud_ kaboom _that cut out halfway as his ears started ringing loudly. He hit the ground with an unforgiving _thud_ and felt a wave of pain radiate through his body. He'd landed on his arm – no doubt it was broken. The pain made his vision turn red for a brief moment – he had to roll over. He was laying on a broken limb and, despite all the attempts on his life and fatal wounds he'd endured, such an action still caused him a massive amount of pain. His hearing was returning, though.

"…_fucking insane?!_ The boss said to take him _alive_ and you throw a _fucking grenade_ at them?!"

The leader of the suits was angry.

He forced himself to move. His head was throbbing and his ears hurt – no doubt the grenade's fault. Slowly, he rolled over until he lay on his back. His broken arm was finally free – now it wouldn't hurt so much. Only now, he realized his vision was swimming. His vision was swimming a _lot_. Clouds swirled overhead and he could trace patterns in the dust the grenade left. He was starting to feel dizzy too. He tried looking around, trying to find any trace of Saber – he'd made sure to push her forward just before the grenade exploded, but she was nowhere to be found. Did she escape? Was she unconscious behind a tombstone somewhere?

Even in a dazed state, fear gripped at his mind again. He couldn't see her. He couldn't hear her. His ears still rang softly – the only reason he heard the brash leader was because he was shouting. He craned his neck as he laid, looking up, left, and right, but he still couldn't see her. Saber had seemingly disappeared. "Split up and look for the girl!" The boisterous captain spoke again. "I don't want to find her injured because that asshat chucked a grenade – she's taken four clamps already, she can't be far. Spread out." The leader stopped by Shirou's side and looked down at him. The older man's shades had been knocked clean off, and a trail of blood led down to his chin from the side of his mouth. "Shit, kid… What's with you guys?" He heaved slightly. "Are all Servants as hardcore as yours? Fucksakes, we just asked you to come with us and the next thing we know, she's pointing that sword at us." His hand went for one of the inner pockets of the jacket he wore, and – despite his injuries – the soldier casually took a cigar out, lit it, and started smoking. "We wouldn't have used the Clamps, to be honest," he said sourly as he glanced to where the sniper was. "But damn… The way that woman of yours was slapping us around, I think that crossed the threshold." The soldier kneeled beside Shirou's fallen form. "Ears ringing, kiddo?"

Shirou was baffled. This man was, for all intents and purposes, trying to either grievously harm or kill him scarcely two minutes ago. Now he was being laid-back and chatty. Despite this, despite the overwhelming frustration and fear and anger Shirou felt, he thought maybe, just _maybe_, the soldiers were done trying to maim him. He nodded slowly, mindful of the murderous headache he was sporting. "Y-Yeah…" He mumbled softly. The grenade took all the wind out of his sails – he felt weak, tired, out of breath, numb… Possibly even _more_ feelings if he weren't too hazy to place them.

"Medic'll be around soon," the soldier spoke as he puffed on the cigar in his mouth. "Thought we wouldn't need one, but hey – Servants. No such thing as overkill there." He glanced back. Shirou followed his eyes and gazed at the area the brash soldier was looking at. The man who tried to shoot Shirou the first time, after charging at him with a knife, was getting chewed out by his comrades. Others were looking around the graveyard for Saber.

_Saber_.

He started to worry again. His heart rate increased and started to hammer in his ears – if the grenade took him out with nothing but the shockwave, what could it have done to her in the state she was in? Hell, she had _bolts of electricity_ running up and down her spine! For all he knew she could be passed out somewhere, unaware of the fact that the remaining soldiers were looking for her. What if –

His thought stopped almost instantly.

The leaves on the ground far away from them rustled and a glint of silver shot forth from between the tombstones, and before Shirou could even place the movement a jet of red shot from the knee of one of the captain's guards. The smoking soldier hardly had a chance to register their cries when two more of his soldiers were sent flying, blood and teeth leaving their mouths as they were hurled over tombstones. The final guard could, at least, raise his rifle a _bit_ before a steel gauntlet hit him squarely in the face and sent the poor man flying over both Shirou _and_ the captain – and just as the captain himself turned around he was greeted by an unforgiving knee to the face; one so strong it actually knocked him upright.

Saber lashed out at the leader of the suits in a flash – the flat side of Excalibur, freshly reclaimed, slammed into the captain's jaw enough to knock him back to his knees. Her free hand grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back in a painful manner, and with strength befitting of a Servant she pulled the captain to her, falling in line behind him, his arm still in a contorted vice-grip – and as a final measure, the blood-caked blade of Excalibur came to rest on his throat.

Before any of the soldiers could even fathom what had happened, Saber had turned their leader into a human shield.

"Oi, oi! What the fuck? Let go, you dyke!"

Saber paid no heed to the captain's insult. She turned to look at Shirou, and briefly, just briefly, the fire in her eyes and the frown on her lovely face melted away. She looked absolutely mortified at the sight of him lying there, powerless and injured. "C-Can you stand?" She asked softly. He could see it in her eyes – even though she had the soldiers in what could basically count as a checkmate, she'd still toss the captain aside if it meant helping him. The bolt of electricity along her back flared up again – her eye twitched, her knees buckled slightly and Excalibur itself trembled slightly in her grip, but she stayed strong.

He couldn't let that continue. He just couldn't. She was in a position where the enemy would do _anything_ to save their commander, and that meant… _More spikes_. Shirou shuddered. Four had already rendered her immobile for almost half a minute and he dreaded to think what more could do. Almost on cue, one of his memories returned. He remembered seeing Saber after her first clash with Gilgamesh – beaten, bruised, wounded, barely alive and tossed aside; her eyes were almost empty and her hair was loose, bloodstained and splayed across the ground. The fear that memory brought on was more than involuntary – it was reflex. The very _thought_ of her looking like that again mortified him.

He _wouldn't_ let that continue. He barely answered – he just nodded curtly and started building on his determination. He _needed_ to get back up, he _needed _to be by Saber's side in this, and he _needed_ to get them both as far away from these people as possible, broken arm be damned. He huffed slightly – he cast away the pain in his arm and lurched upwards. Slowly, uncomfortably, he sat up, gritting his teeth and slowly repeating an inaudible mantra to himself. _Must escape. Must escape. Must escape. _He rolled over, onto his knees, with a low growl and supported himself with his good arm. His broken one was hanging limply, grazing the ground and sending spikes of pain into his shoulder with every touch.

He ignored it.

Slowly, he clambered to his feet. His movements were sluggish – his vision kept swimming and his ears were still ringing.

He ignored that too.

A wave of nausea assaulted his exhausted body. His head felt impossibly heavy, as though it was straining his neck, and his ears were _still_ ringing, despite the fact that it had been a few minutes since the grenade exploded.

That was quickly suppressed as well.

Before he knew it he was back on his feet. He was shaking a bit, there was still a slight ringing sound in his ears and his vision was still swimming, but he was standing again. In a few seconds he'd regain his composure and they'd be home free. "The fuck, woman?" He heard the captain growl. "Aren't you supposed to be a knight or something?! Where the fuck's the honour in this?!"

"The honour is in the preservation of lives," Saber answered coolly, glaring down at the soldier. "Shirou wishes to abstain from killing innocents, but your men keep attacking. This is my way of ensuring they stop."

"Tch… Doubt they will," he scoffed. "We ain't soldiers, lady, we're mercs. If our boss thinks it needs to be done he'll cut me loose. Then command'll fall to that asshole who chucked the 'nade," he growled. "Ya want that to happen?" As if to prove his point, every soldier around Saber aimed at her once again. The red dot from the sniper's laser came to rest on Saber's neck as well. The effect this had, however, was unintended. "Ay, ay, _ay_! That was a fucking bluff, you assmaggots!" The captain seemed both fearful and livid. "You lower those guns or I'll kick your dogs and fuck your wives!"

"…Call your sniper off." Shirou spoke before he could stop himself. That sniper was dangerous – he was at least half a mile away, maybe less. Either way, Saber wouldn't be able to intercept him without one of them getting shot with another spike.

"That's kinda difficult with a _huge fucking cross guard_ in my face, _y'know_?!" The captain seethed. "Tell your woman to ease up and I'll – whoa, whoa, _whoa, missy!_" His sarcasm easily disappeared when Saber pressed her sword to his throat just a _bit_ harder.

"Make do," she said coldly.

The captain sighed. "Fuck my life…" He slowly moved his fingers to the small device in his ear and pressed down on one of the small buttons. "Alpha One, stand down," he said sullenly. Almost instantly, the red dot on Saber's neck disappeared and, despite his nausea and haziness Shirou felt a wave of relief wash over him. The sniper would stand down. "Alpha Two, you stand down as well." _What_?! Shirou's relief left him immediately. They had another sniper? Where?! "Same goes for you, Alpha Three. Put that Barrett down. We don't need lethal shots."

Shirou's head spun. _Th-three snipers_… Did these people have any restraint at all? "A'ight, the snipers are gone. Now will you call your woman off?" The captain asked. His tone held annoyance and fury – but in between the emotions Shirou could hear fear; the same kind of fear he felt whenever he faced death.

"What…" Shirou started, his voice catching in his throat. "…What do want from us?" He asked. He needed to know that much. These people came out of nowhere, pointed guns at them and demanded that they 'surrender' – _and_ they opened fire when Saber refused. "Why are you after us? What did we do to you?"

"Cheh." The captain spat slightly. "Don't flatter yourself. Our boss told us to apprehend you, so we tried. That's that. Now call her off!"

"What does your boss want with us?" Shirou asked. He wouldn't get another chance like this. His body felt like it was about to give in – if it did, Saber would undoubtedly release the Captain and try to save him. He needed to milk the soldier for information while he could – for all he knew, these people could be after Sakura and Tohsaka and Ilya as well. "It s-sounds like you know Saber's a Servant… But you attacked anyway. _Why_? Why would your boss send you up against Saber if you knew the risks?"

"The fuck should we know?!" The captain spat again. "For all we know the fucker's looking at world peace. Bastard's been plotting and scheming for about four months now. This operation is sudden – fuck, _all_ the boss' actions are sudden," the captain growled. "We shouldn't have moved on _you_, boyo. We should've waited. A _long_ while. But the boss is spooked. Told us this was the last chance or somethin' like that, I don't really care. He tripled my pay – I'd piss on the Declaration for that kinda money."

"What spooked him?" Saber asked, glaring down at the soldier. "What could have spooked him enough to send you against me?" The bolt of electricity arced across her back again, and she shook slightly, gritting her teeth.

The captain sighed. "Look, lass…" He started. He seemed to consider how to phrase the information he was about to divulge. "The only thing the boss told us is that something really, really bad is gonna happen any time soon. He said the last Servants were his only hope of stopping that, so he sent us to find whoever we could and escort them to a safe place," he said tiredly. "We looked for everyone, but the satellite imaging already showed us enough to know who made it and who didn't."

"Why try to… to escort us…?" Shirou was seriously starting to wonder whether the haziness would lift. His tongue felt numb and his head was killing him. "What good would that do?"

"Again, the fuck should I know?" The captain barked. "I'm a _mercenary_, lad, not the boss' fucking crotch-cleaner. I don't know every little detail – he gives me money and bullets and I go shoot stuff and shout at these pusdicks. Simple," he growled. "We were to escort you out of Japan until the threat was over, and after that you could resume your daily lives. That. Is. _**It**_." He punctuated each word.

Shirou was perplexed. The haziness was finally lifting, but the lack of information the soldiers had seemed to make it linger. He still had absolutely no idea why the soldiers' employer was after him and Saber, apart from the 'very, very bad' thing that would occur 'any time soon'. It was frustrating beyond belief – they were being attacked by roughly thirty armed men for no reason other than 'Here's money, go get them'. It was confusing, really. He had no idea –

And then he saw it.

Twitches in the captain's fingers.

"Saber – his fingers!" The haziness disappeared at once. Whatever the captain was planning went unnoticed because of his focus on the words he said. Saber gasped slightly, looked down at the captain's hand – and in a flash, the captain made some kind of signal; a sideways chop in front of him. Saber growled slightly, anger spilling on to her face again, and –

"Hurk!"

Shirou lurched forwards, his eyes wide, a sharp pain suddenly shooting through his side. It was fleeting, brief, but it was enough. It made him stumble sideways, resting against a tombstone as his legs buckled. Slowly, he turned around, ignoring Saber's gasp of astonishment. He'd just been shot. He knew it. Somehow, somewhere, someone shot him despite the order to stand down. Was the hand signal some kind of attack command? Whatever he was shot with, it caused a slight prickling sensation in his side. Although it seemed slow, he was finally able to turn around.

Another sniper.

This one clad in the same kind of suit the soldiers wore. He was wearing one of the most devilish smirks Shirou had ever seen – a smug look of superiority, an expression that screamed success. This sniper's rifle closely resembled the one in the bushes used. That alone said all that needed to be said.

Shirou's heart started hammering even more wildly than it was. The same feeling of dread that invaded him when Saber was shot for the first time was filling him again. He could literally _feel_ the colour draining from his face as he looked down, and he let out a fearful whimper when he saw one of the spikes sticking out of his side – the same side as his broken arm.

Saber apparently noticed as well. The captain went flying, every care about ending hostilities gone. Her eyes were wide with fear and worry as she rushed to him, Excalibur clenched in her left hand as her right hand stretched out. It was a movement quick enough to make Shirou blink – but it wasn't fast enough. Saber's hand was mere _millimetres_ away from the spike when the shaft cracked open. She paled as well – her fingers latched onto his side, uncaring of the discomfort and pain it would cause if she tried ripping it out. But her grip simply _would not_ settle around the short shard.

He could see it on her face – she was desperate; desperate to stop the tip of that spike from punching into his ribcage. She had reason to be scared – she'd taken four of those already, and even now, minutes after the tips embedded themselves in her flesh she _still_ felt near-crippling pain each time that bolt of electricity arced across her back. Even a fool could see she struggled to stand each time the bolt flickered.

And now one of those spikes was about the pierce _him_.

He had to stop it. If it did anything even _remotely_ close to what it did to Saber, it would stop him in his tracks. Fear and panic started to tug at his senses as his good hand struggled to get a grip on the short tip stuck in his side. He _had_ to get that tip out, he _had _to –

_Beep_.

_Oh, crap_.

"No!..."

He hardly had chance to brace himself. The loud _beep_ signalled the tip boring into his side, and he felt it drilling into one of his ribs. That alone was almost unbearable. Breaking a rib was on thing – having a steel shard _drill_ through one was another matter. He gasped loudly, swaying where he stood as he tried to resist the pain raking at his side. He heard a sizzling sound – a slew of spits as the sparks in the tip of the shard started hissing.

Then the sound of electricity flooded his ears.

His vision turned blood-red; not a single detail was spared. The leaves, the clouds, the soldiers, even Saber's terrified face was flooded until he could only see a single shade of crimson. His throat burned as he let loose one of the loudest screams he ever had – his back was on fire. His back was melting. His back was turning to _ash_. Burning, stabbing, cutting, shredding – each feeling dominated the nerves around his spine as his back arched, the loud scream of pain still pouring from his mouth.

_Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitst opmakeitstop-! _

He stumbled forward. It felt as though someone had clamped a hand around his spine, and was now twisting and turning it, sending massive shockwaves of pain through his body. Control of his body was ripped away from him – the only thing that was left was pain. He felt knives plunge into his spine; he felt the bones break, he felt the nerves fry, he felt the very fluid in his spine set alight. The pain was blinding him, deafening him, immobilizing him – spots of black appeared in the crimson haze dominating his view and he felt the muscles around his neck contract.

"…Shirou!"

_Shitshitshitshitshitthishurt sithurtsithurstshit-!_

He lost control of his legs, and the next thing he knew he felt someone's arms around him, trying to support him. He didn't know who it was. He was in too much pain – it was difficult to see, difficult to speak, difficult to _think_. His good hand grasped at the person's shoulder. His grip was weak, pathetic, but he tried to cling to his supporter. He'd fall otherwise. His voice had been reduced to agonized whimpers and his back still felt as though it was aflame. His legs were shaking like mad and his head was tilted back, his eyes rolled back in their sockets and his mouth agape.

His breathing was ragged.

His mind was shutting down.

His body was giving in.

And the pain still didn't stop.

"That's _enough_!" A female voice… "…Stop this." It sounded desperate. It sounded fearful – no, it sounded absolutely _terrified_. Hopelessness, panic, terror and – was the woman choking up? His body started moving – not of his own accord. He couldn't _feel_ his body. He couldn't move a single limb. The pain was the only thing he felt; flames licking at every nerve in his bag, jagged, rusted knives cutting at his spine, and acid caking the flesh covering it. There was _nothing_ – nothing but pure pain. "I… I…" The voice wavered. "… I-I'll do as you want! I yield! _I surrender_! Please, _please_ s-stop this!"

And the pain disappeared.

Shirou choked, despite his dry throat. His eyes bulged as he rolled onto his side, coughing wildly. His entire body shook as though he'd endured a blizzard – spasms ran up and down his legs and arms and his head twitched repeatedly. The pain was surreal, he thought as he hugged himself. It was unimaginable – even now he struggled to comprehend exactly what he felt. The spitting sounds from the dart had dissipated, his ears had stopped ringing and the haziness was _gone_, but… _Oh God… Oh God…_ He curled up into a ball on the grass, whimpering and moaning. His heart was running rampant. His breaths were shaky, feral, _hollow_.

Everything registered now. He remembered falling forwards and he remembered Saber catching him, supporting him as he stood on failing legs. She was the one who stopped the pain – there was no doubt in his mind. He had to look up. He _had_ to. She gave up to save him – she surrendered to the enemy. Despite her upper hand, despite the fact that the resisted the shards like _nothing_, she still gave up…

…To save him.

He needed to stop that.

There was no telling _what_ these men would do if she surrendered. He forced himself to look up – it felt as though every muscle in his neck screamed in protest as he did so, but that wouldn't stop him now. He was down, sure, but he wasn't out yet. But when he finally caught sight of her… Some of that determination left him. Saber was standing in front of him, her legs still shaking. Excalibur was loosely held in one hand while the other was clenched into a fist. She was gritting her teeth, her eyes glaring at the soldiers with anger and hatred and… _Wait_. Were those tear trails on her cheeks? Was she crying? The large bolt of electricity still flickered across her back now and then but she _still_ stood her ground, despite everything. Despite the fact that her breathing was ragged and uncontrolled and that she was _crying_, she was still staring at them in defiance.

"'Bout fuckin' time." Shirou heard the captain grumble and turned to look at him. He was resting one knee, nursing his twisted arm. "Didn't want to go that far, lass. But we didn't have no choice. Now drop that sword and get down on your knees and we'll see to taking you in." It was a ludicrous order. Saber had already parted with Excalibur once, but Shirou knew that was for his sake. The chances of her doing it again were –

Wait.

_Wait_.

Why was she wavering?

Saber bit her lip. She glanced at the Captain. Despite the fact that she had her sword against his throat scant seconds ago, he still stood with the same indifference he showed throughout the battle. "Look, lass, I know it's hard," he spoke wearily. "If what we're told about you is true that sword is very important." He sighed. "We'll grab that too. Take it with us for when you guys wake up." Saber glanced back at Shirou – and Shirou knew she was seriously considering it. All the anger, all the hate she stared at them with vanished when she looked at him.

"…Don't…" He gasped. His throat was dry and his voice was unresponsive. "…Don't do it…"

"It's _really_ not a difficult choice, lass," the Captain spoke up again. "He doesn't need to suffer again. Neither of you need to suffer again. Just drop the sword and we'll deactivate those Clamps." He was still indifferent, but there was urgency in his voice. "They won't hurt your boyfriend again, lass. Not while I'm in command here." Shirou didn't know how the man did it. Conveying sincerity with his eyes but remaining aloof and casual in posture and speech. Whatever training he did for _that_ particular skill seemed to pay off – Saber's grip on Excalibur was loosening.

She was still biting her lip when she looked back at the Captain. Anger was still evident, but there was a shred of hope in her deep, green eyes as well. "…You won't hurt him?" It sounded as though she was trying to reassure _herself_ instead of just confirming it with the Captain.

"Aye. We ain't that heartless cunt in gold armour, are we?" The captain smirked.

That seemed to be good enough. Saber drew in a deep, ragged breath. She closed her eyes for a fleeting moment, and Excalibur fell from her hands. With a loud _clang_ it clattered to the floor, the blood outlining the blade splattering the ground as it landed. Her eyes were downcast, and Shirou could see many different emotions on her face. Fear, anger, shame – it made his blood boil. Despite the fact that his entire body was numb he realized he was trying to force himself to move.

"…Much better," the Captain spoke, sounding relieved for the first time. "Alright, you three go secure the lad, you three take the lass. Benson, contact Hydra and tell them we're prepped for evac. You lot, tend to the wounded. Anders, Denny, you guys collect the weapons and Clamps." He started giving the remaining soldiers orders. "Be careful with those two!" He called to the six people walking over to Shirou and Saber. "They surrendered – treat them accordingly or I'll shoot ya myself."

His heart started hammering again. Shirou did not know when his anger flared – he didn't even know if his anger _should_ have flared. But seeing that look on Saber's face – it angered him. No, it _enraged_ him. They couldn't beat her, so they used _him_ to play her emotions – used him as leverage to make an opponent far beyond them cave. He was more than a hostage in this case – he wasn't some kind of 'meat shield' for the captain; they _actively and consciously_ hurt him in order to hurt Saber. Their 'clamps' did almost nothing to her so they focused their attention on _him_ – her weakness.

He cursed himself. He was the weak link in this battle. He was the reason Saber lost. He wasn't strong enough. He wasn't skilled enough – and these soldiers exploited that despite their Captain's apparent annoyance. If he hadn't been near, Saber would have curb-stomped the soldiers; she'd have left them crawling in the dirt without breaking a sweat. But because of him…

Now she had-

_Clang_.

His train of thought stopped the moment the loud sound reached his ears. It was familiar - _very _familiar. Now wasn't the time to be unable to move – he _forced_ determination into himself, a frown coating his face as he twisted his body to get a clearer view of Saber… And he gasped when he finally saw her. She was standing with her hand pressed to her neck, her eyes wide with disbelief and shock – there was another spike jutting out from between her fingers. His heart sank.

They lied.

The soldiers lied and they _fell for it_.

Several more loud clangs sounded as more spikes ripped into Saber's body, each one making her twist and twitch as she stumbled to the side. _Move… Move… __**Move, God damnit!**_ He used every last bit of his strength to try and get up. He mentally _screamed_ at himself to get up, to run over to Saber and help her. He poured his will into his numb limbs in a desperate effort to move, even if just a _bit_ – even if he could clamber to his knees, it would be good enough.

But his body refused.

It wouldn't respond.

He looked at Saber again. She was gritting her teeth and glaring to where to the snipers normally were, but there was something else in her eyes. She had ten more spikes jutting out of her body now, each one long and dark and ominous. She was stumbling to get to her sword – she needed to find _some_ kind of defence before more spikes came. In her desperate attempt to turn, to make a dive for her blade, her eyes met with Shirou's –

And then the shafts broke apart.

Everything went still. The world slowed to a crawl again and Shirou scarcely heard the loud cry of anguish that escaped his throat as Saber clumsily fumbled with the remaining tips embedded in her armour. Her breathing was loud and erratic – her fingers fumbled with the sharp shards in futile attempts to rip them out of her armour before they shot into her flesh. Ten more tips – ten more darts to cause her pain. Shirou felt sick. He tasted bile and he broke into a cold sweat. Ten shards. Ten more bolts of –

The loud _beep_ sounded.

Shirou heard a crunch as the tips of the spikes shot into Saber's body.

He heard the spitting sounds as sparks flew from the shredded armour.

White light dominated his vision. Ten tongues of electricity coiled around Saber's body, writhing and twisting as the arced their way to her back where they turned into a single, howling pillar of blue and white, snaking up and down her spine like a waterfall of lightning. The scream she let out deafened him – it shook him to his very core. It was unlike anything he'd ever heard from her – it wasn't a dignified yelp or the loud gasps he heard her utter earlier. It wasn't a moan of pain from a slash or a shot or a whine of agony – it was a shrill, unbridled, downright girlish scream let loose at the top of her lungs. It _terrified_ him – the mere thought that she could be in such immense pain drove him into a frenzied panic. He shook himself, tried to swing his arms and roll over onto his stomach so he could at least _try_ to stand up, to run over to her, to embrace her, to give her _something_ to cling to as she endured the pain.

But his body refused to obey.

It refused to react.

And he was forced to keep listening to that bloodcurdling scream.

A cacophony of new sounds offset Saber's scream – the Captain, his eyes white with sheer rage, had sprung into action, darting forwards and drawing his sidearm quicker than Shirou's tortured mind could follow. He fired amazingly fast – each shot was directed right at the rogue sniper. The Captain's face was contorted with fury – his teeth were bared, the veins in his forehead were bulging and the sincerity he'd normally projected with eyes were replaced by nothing but sheer, unrestrained murderous intent.

Saber's scream was dying down – her back was arched, her legs were shaking visibly, even under the dress she wore with her armour, and her arms were twitching. Her head was thrown back, her open mouth directed at the sky as moans and groans and sobs bubbled over her lips. Her eyes were white, rolled over in their sockets. Shirou felt tears sting at his eyes. His breathing was erratic, each conveying a terrified gasp as he tried to force his body into moving. He tried forcing the numbness in body out. He clenched his fist, flexed the muscles in his arm, craned his neck left and right and did his best to force his body into a sitting position. He made every movement possible, repeated them without pause – he _needed_ to get back up. Saber was in pain. He needed to help her.

He felt his back leave the ground.

Several more loud gunshots joined the fray – the suited soldiers had loaded live ammo into their rifles and were spraying lead at the rogue snipers.

His arm shot up – still numb, but he could control it. He clenched his fist again – it seemed as though he was reaching out towards the sky, trying to grasp the clouds. This was good. This would be enough. He lowered his arm, pressing his elbow to the ground and forcing what remained of his strength into it. His back protested – a wave of pain surged through his body as the feeling of fibers pulling off raw flesh made him recoil slightly.

But he pressed on.

He was forcing himself into a sitting position even though all his limbs cried out in protest. His shoulders shook and his chest heaved; his teeth clenched, his neck arched forwards and his skull vibrated under the pounding headache that dart had left him with. His ears buzzed and his vision was blacking out, and his chest convulsed each time his heart pumped blood into his body.

But he was making progress.

He was almost in a sitting position.

That alone would be enough.

Almost. _Almost_. He was almost there – almost sitting upright. His back felt as though it would give out any moment, and his it felt as though his broken arm was nothing but shards of glass under his flesh. But he ignored it; he gritted his teeth and pushed on. He was _way_ too close; his mind was a muddled mess of agonized thoughts and attempts to push out the pain. He couldn't think straight. He almost couldn't think _at all_ – he only had one simple goal in his mind:

_Save Saber_.

He coughed up blood the minute his body lurched forwards – he was finally upright, but the pain of getting there was near unbearable. His vision was swimming again and he swayed from side to side, his good arm just _barely_ keeping him upright. Saber swayed in his sight – she'd been standing upright for a good few seconds now. He had to move quickly before she –

Saber crumbled.

She fell quicker than Shirou's mind could register, a graceless drop as her legs gave way. Her small frame tumbled to the side the moment her knees touched the ground, as she landed on her back with a loud, cold _thump_. He could see her face clearly now – her eyes were just barely open, her face pale and her lips trembling, trying to moan, to whine, to whimper, _anything_ that could act as an outlet for the effects of the bolts that fried her back. Her voice was gone, though – all that remained was a convulsing body and a flickering consciousness. Her green eyes, usually vivid and full of life, seemed dull, hollow… _Agonized._

He flung his body into action.

He wouldn't wait any more. If he still couldn't move most of his limbs then he'd make do with those he could. He let himself topple onto his side and used his unharmed arm to force himself up onto his knees. His broken arm uselessly dragged along as he crawled over to Saber. He was mere_ feet _from her – he had to push himself _now_. The suits weren't going to keep the snipers away forever. "You three, suppress Alpha one! Jensen, Williams – flank that sonuvabitch and kill him!" The captain was still barking orders, far too busy fighting the snipers to care about him and Saber. He preferred it that way. An absolutely _deafening_ gunshot report shook his skull, and he staggered. A tombstone in front of him practically exploded – a giant hole popped into the marble out of nowhere and before he could blink, it fell to pieces. Another loud _bang_ made him flinch, and a bolt of fear surged into his heart as a foot-sized crater was blown into the ground mere inches away from him. "Shit!" He heard one of the soldiers cuss loudly. "Take cover! That soulless fuck's using the Barrett!"

More craters erupted in the ground around Shirou.

More tombstones shattered.

More crypts were peppered with bullets.

But Shirou pressed on.

A low growl was suppressed by his tightly-shut lips as he swung his one leg forward. His foot crunched onto the grass and leaves and debris littering the area around him, and he could feel something warm scorching through his sole. But he couldn't be bothered by it. He steadied himself – forced the drowsiness and dizziness from his mind as his body stopped swaying from side to side. He exhaled loudly; he steeled his mind and forced his body to action. His arm was screaming in protest and his spine felt as though it cut into his organs with each movement. But it didn't stop him.

He put strength in his leg and pushed up – one foot lazily dragging after his straightening leg, the other firmly raising Shirou into a standing stance. He repressed his nausea as he rose – his vision was blurring and any trace of light the happened to filter into his sight blinded him, but he was standing, _finally_ standing. Even in the midst of a warzone he allowed himself a smile; he was going to reach Saber. He'd carry her out of this cemetery, away from all the soldiers even if it pushed him to the brink of death. He would _not_ allow anyone to cause her more pain today.

He started to walk. He only had a few feet to go – ten or twelve, at best – but it seemed impossibly far at the time. His back tore into him in protest each time he took a step, and each wave of pain made him pause briefly, but he kept his eyes on Saber. Saber was all that mattered to him now. "Fucksakes, lad, get the fuck down! You're an open target!" He heard the captain yell at him from a distance away, but he shook off the warning and pressed on.

"The snipers are converging, sir! They're moving to the same spot!"

"_I see that,_ numbnuts! Keep firing!"

"They'll pin us down!"

"_No shit, assmunch!_ They won't pin us if we pin them first so _keep firing_! Christ, lad, _get down!_"

The shouts were getting disorganized. There was a deadlock between the snipers and the suits – one side too far away to be effective, the other side too limited in terms of weaponry to do any damage. This made the sides focus on each other far more frantically than one would expect – and that was the opening Shirou needed. He ignored everything around him – the tombstones being blown to bits, the captain yelling at him to get down, even the bullets that whizzed past his face. Slowly, step by step he lumbered toward Saber. He was halfway there already – just a few more steps. Just a few more –

"Are you fucking stupid? I said _get down_, you piece of-"

A loud _thwack_ assaulted Shirou's ears as his body lurched forward. A sharp, fleeting pain pulsed through his side and everything started to tremble. His hands, his body, his vision, his mind – his breath was knocked clean out and his legs were less than a second away from giving in. He saw remnants of a red spray evaporate before him – several large drops of blood pattered onto Saber's armour as the ground between them was tinted red. He couldn't breathe – try as he may, he couldn't do anything now. His eyes widened – his body was shutting down, and the pain in his side was growing by the second. He placed his good hand against his side – despite it still being slightly numb, he could feel something thick and sticky dripping from a wound the size of a fist in his side. His mind started buzzing – everything around him started spinning and his heart slowed to a crawl. All the while he tried to breathe, and all the while he couldn't. Panic flared inside Shirou – he had been shot. Shot by whatever blew those tombstones apart.

"_Fuck_, he's still standing!"

"He's going into shock! _Get over there and stabilize him goddammit!_"

Shock? Was that it? He tried to think – apart from the image of Saber screaming as lightning coiled around her, there was nothing. He couldn't piece his thoughts together; who he was, what he was doing there, who was shouting – it all started to leave him. The feeling in legs disappeared almost instantly and Shirou felt himself plummeting forward, face first. It was an unforgiving descent – he landed right on his broken arm and his face slammed down on the ground so hard his vision blacked out for a moment. He still couldn't breathe – and his chest was starting to ache. His panic grew in intensity – his gaze flitted to and fro, blinded by the sun and stung by the dust around him.

He looked in front of him. There was barely a foot between him and Saber. "The fuck are you asshats waiting for? Get over there! Mendez, get the Pig over here! We need suppressing fire _now_!" His strength was leaving him. Slowly but surely, Shirou was dying. He knew it. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't stand, and soon, judging by how his vision was fading, he wouldn't be able to see. He hardly felt the pain in his broken arm, despite the weight he was putting on it. Or maybe… Maybe he simply didn't care about the pain. He didn't know. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't focus. His surroundings kept spinning and his vision was fading fast – even now he could only move the tips of his fingers, and even then they were simple twitches at best. More dust flew upwards around him as more craters were blasted into the earth around him. One burst into existence mere inches from Saber's head.

"We can't take all three of 'em, sir!"

"Make do!"

"The Barrett's bad enough, fucksakes! Now you're asking us to deal with two 700's as well?!"

"I'm not _asking_ anything, dickworm, I'm giving you a _fucking order!_"

It was getting difficult to stay awake. Shirou's eyelids were getting heavy and his body was slowly but surely forsaking him. There was less than a foot between him and Saber – he had come _so close_. His current state let the briefest flicker of rage dwell in his consciousness. Despite the determination that had kept him going for most of the war, one lousy shot was all it took to flatten him. It was over – Saber was down and out and he was dying. After achieving so much… After defeating both Rider and Berserker, securing an alliance with Tohsaka, escaping from Gilgamesh himself…

This was not how Shirou pictured his end.

The battle was still raging. The suits had switched to their sidearms – apparently their rifles were empty. Loud gunshots, muzzle flashes, flying debris, shouted profanity – these and more assaulted Shirou's ears as his life slipped away. He was caught in the middle of a battlefield when the tension was reaching its pinnacle. And yet… His vision cleared for a while. He looked up, using what remained of his strength – little as it was – to crane his neck. Saber was still lying there, gasping for breath and shivering as though she were in the middle of a blizzard. The sight pained him. It struck him right in the heart – he had, not ten minutes ago, told himself he wouldn't allow her to look like that again. He told himself he'd fight. He told himself he'd protect her.

And he failed.

Despite all his trials and tribulations, he failed.

Was he crying? He couldn't tell. His vision was blurring but his face was numb – if there were tears rolling down his cheeks he couldn't feel it. He failed. That was all that mattered now. Saber was injured and he was dying because he failed. There was nothing he could do anymore. He was powerless, motionless, almost _lifeless_ – and he was all those things in the middle of a firefight. He couldn't speak, he couldn't breathe and could barely move; the little strength he had left was being used to cling to consciousness as best he could. He could do nothing to tell her he was sorry.

Absolutely nothing.

Unless…

In the fading lights of his mind, Shirou thought of a single thing he could do now. He pushed what remained of his strength into his arm, uncaring of the consequences of losing consciousness now. Slowly, painfully, his good arm stretched forward. His hand shook and the muscles in his arm were contracting and jumping – he couldn't hold it up much longer. Black hazes tugged at the corners of his vision, the colours around him gradually disappearing. This was the last thing he could do. If he could just stretch his hand a _bit_ further…

The strength in his arm disappeared.

It fell to the floor…

… And his hand fell right into Saber's.

He made it. His fingers slowly wrapped around Saber's gauntleted palm, and squeezed, ever so slightly. His vision was fading rapidly and he could not move anymore. That squeeze was the last thing he could do. He was going to black out soon – he knew it. He was going to black out and there was a chance he would not wake up from it – and that scared him. Knowing he'd never see Saber again… That he'd never laugh with Ilya and Fuji-nee and Sakura again… It terrified him. For the first time since joining the war, Shirou felt the fear of death grip him. And just then…

Saber's gauntleted fingers curled around his hand – and, despite the obvious pain and obliviousness on her beautiful face – a slight smile tugged at the edges of her lips.

That was the last thing Shirou saw in the cemetery, before his consciousness left him.

* * *

He woke up to find himself in this weird place. He panicked almost immediately – he thought he'd died and the next thing he knew, he woke up to a bright light and several nurses and gun-toting guards. Naturally it took quite a while for them to calm him down. Waking up to find yourself strapped to a pod full of sinister-looking wires while men with guns kept their fingers on the triggers was reason enough to freak out – and the fact that a fatal gunshot wound was now nothing more than a large, grotesque flower-shaped scar on his side just added fuel to that fire.

But, they succeeded eventually. They showed him that both Sakura and Saber – despite the latter's injuries – were both safe and cared for. That alone almost made him faint – when he first saw the violet mop of hair next to him, his heart almost stopped, and when he recognized the junior he'd become so accustomed to seeing hang limply from a giant capsule, he started shouting and cussing at everyone within reach. He thought she'd been harmed, that she looked so worn and pale because they'd been doing God-knows-what to them, but when she woke up and he saw she was okay, he calmed. _Slightly_.

Looking back at Sakura after thinking back to the cemetery, he couldn't help but let a small smile flit across his lips. Despite the fact that Sakura was shy and frail and scared to her wit's end, she seemed to be keeping her composure for the moment, and despite being brought to her knees, Saber seemed to be recovering as well. Saber was still slumped in her pod, though. She already had several wires connected to her neck and wrists. When he first saw them he gritted his teeth so hard, even the guards heard the grinding sounds.

That 'Athena' woman assured him she was in good hands, though. She claimed the fluorescent blue liquid flowing into Saber's small body was a precaution to prevent any more damage to her and, with an embarrassed smirk, she also told him the boisterous Captain who acquired him and Saber swore he'd maim and kill her entire family if any more harm came to the two of them. She told him she knew it wouldn't really make him calm down that much, and that orders 'from above' prohibited her from actually talking to him, but she said that, as Saber's 'boyfriend' he deserved to know that she was safe and that they were not planning to harm Saber – or Sakura – in any way or form.

It evaporated most of his anger instantly – 'Athena' seemed like a very sincere person. But when he asked her what exactly they _wanted_ with them, she replied that she was not important enough to have access to that kind of information. She was just a comms officer – she was managing most of the operations in the cylindrical room, and she knew what most of said operations pertained to, but she was (deliberately) uninformed as to _why_ the operations were taking place. That served to fuel his frustration even more.

"In any case, the Boss will be here soon. He told us not to commence with anything until he was here," Athena spoke with a faint smile. "He's a bit of a bastard, though, so try not to take everything he says too seriously." With that, the middle-aged woman turned around and headed back to her console in the centre of the room, ordering a nurse nearby to bring Shirou and Sakura a drink of water.

Shirou sighed dejectedly – despite hanging in the pod for the past seven hours, the only thing he could _remotely_ decipher about the people in the room was that they were _very_ rich and _very _well-informed – they knew everything; they knew he was 'killed' by Lancer once, they knew he and Saber had defeated Berserker by projecting Caliburn, they knew Saber defeated Rider with Exaclibur – 'Athena' even referred to Saber as 'Arturia' once. It was baffling – these people, normal as can be, knew more about the latest developments in the grail war than he could ever comprehend. Screens around the room displayed various video feeds – what seemed like an X-ray, top-down feed of Archer clashing against Berserker in the Einzbern castle, a bird's eye view of their encounter with Gilgamesh at the bridge, what looked like satellite imagery zooming in on Ilya and Berserker trudging through a snowy forest – it was no wonder they knew so much. Just _how_ did they keep track of all that?

"Commander Cunt's en route," one of the operators at the second ring of consoles spoke. "Looks like Donnie ain't with him."

"Knowing Donovan, he probably couldn't bear to see three kids hung up like scarecrows," a guard joked. "That, or ol' man Conrad finally pissed _him_ off as well."

"Can it, you lot," Athena spoke strictly. "Conrad'll have your asses if he hears you."

Ignoring the ruckus in front of him, Shirou turned his head to the side again. Sakura seemed to be calm for the moment – her lips were still trembling and her eyes were wet, but she was holding face. She was doing her best to stay strong and brave, despite the fear the guns in the room instilled in her. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he observed her slightly puffing her cheeks out and doing her best to glare at a passing guard who gave her an odd look. Then he looked towards the final pod.

Saber was awake. She was sluggishly looking around the room, her green eyes still fogged over from the sleep she'd been in. She'd been awake earlier as well – for some reason she felt very, _very_ weak; she couldn't even struggle against the basic bonds of the pod. It caused her a slight amount of panic at first, but Athena, sincere as ever, strode over to her and told her things Shirou couldn't hear. Her words resulted in Saber calming down a bit, but she still wore a troubled expression until she fell asleep again. Now she was closely inspecting her surroundings – looking at the video feeds, glaring at guards who came too close, and occasionally glancing at the other sealed pods littering the spaces between the screens.

Shirou didn't know whether or not she felt his eyes on her. Slowly, her head lulled to the side and their eyes met. Fatigue was evident on her pale face, and her eyes were still half-closed, but he was sure she could see him nonetheless. He smiled at her when he saw she was without injury. The wounds the stakes left were almost non-existent now – just a small scab or two remaining on her clear skin. Her eyes lingered on him for a few seconds, and to the best of her abilities she returned it – an affectionate smile despite her weariness.

Their reverie was disturbed by a loud _pssshhhh_ blasting into the room. There was a hallway leading into the circular room where they were held prisoner – apparently a door somewhere beyond it just opened, as a whole slew of voices suddenly disturbed the relative peace and quiet in the room. Several of these voices sounded worried – fearful, even – but one stood out as sounding nothing but _annoyed_.

"Sir, please…! You're wounded, you need to-"

"Let it be, Sergeant. Report back to your post."

"But sir-"

"_Now_, Sergeant. Take your men with you when you leave."

Was it just him, or was the annoyed voice… _strained_? It seemed the speaker was heaving slightly, and the voice itself was shakier than Shirou had ever heard. Something was wrong – and he wasn't the only one who noticed it. Procuring a small pistol seemingly from nowhere, Athena rose from her seat and strode towards the hallway. A few guards followed suit, their rifles held at the ready, and just as the group disappeared through the hallway –

"Sir!"

"Shit, man, what the fuck? Back up, back up, Commander's wounded!"

The guards quickly fell back through the doorway, backing away from the entrance to the hallway with looks of worry, shock and awe plastered on their faces. One quick-on-the-uptake gunman had the sense to drop his rifle and rush to the side, grabbing a leather chair and moving it towards the centre podium where Athena sat. "Shit's fucked, man… Who did that?" One guard asked. Shirou could see the color draining from the man's face as he fidgeted with his rifle. "Where the fuck is Donnie?!"

"Dead."

Sakura gasped and Saber's jaw dropped when Athena strode in carrying her supposed 'Commander', and Shirou felt himself turn pale at the sight. Four large wounds on the middle-aged man's body stained the ivory business suit a dark, menacing shade of crimson – some areas around the wounds themselves seemed almost _black_. The man's face was covered in sweat and his breathing was irregular. His eyes were glossy and his beard was colored red from the blood dripping from his mouth. Several strands of his slicked back, greying hair clung to his forehead, and it looked as though he could not stand up straight for the life of him. One hand was draped around Athena's shoulders in a bid to support himself, and a massive chrome handgun trembled in his free hand, the barrel still emitting an odd string of smoke. He looked as though he was on the verge of dying right there and then. "Donovan's dead," the dying man said. "We had a standoff and I won."

"Don't look that way to me, C'mander," one of the guards spoke as he walked to the commander's side. "Looks like you lost a fight with a rhino." He relieved Athena of her duty as the man's support, and helped him move towards the central podium, where the leather chair he prepared for his benefactor was waiting.

"It's not your place," the dying man rasped, "to care what I look like. You're a guard. A-Act like it…" He rasped. He removed his arm from the guard's shoulders and, much to Shirou's amazement, hobbled over to the chair without assistance. "Start pulling the records – I need feedback. What the h-hell happened with the snipers? Why use _fourteen_ clamps on one s-servant?"

"Captain MacLeod made the report, sir." Athena wavered as she stood next to the bloodied man. "Dusk insurgents. Three of them – took out our snipers during the deadlock Saber caused and took on their roles. Played them perfectly until the opportunity to shock her to death rose."

"Where…" The man gasped slightly, grabbing his chest as he lurched forward. Blood splattered onto the floor and the man swayed where he sat. Athena was on her knees in an instant, beckoning to the nurses to bring a first-aid kit. "Where…" He continued. "Where are the insurgents n-n-now?"

"MacLeod's interrogating them, sir." Athena bit her lip after she spoke. "Please try to relax, sir. The nurses –"

"I don't _care_ about the nurses!" The man barked. "I care about the situation at h-h-hand!"

"Sir, _please_, you need rest-"

"I don't _need_ rest!" The man was stubborn – very stubborn. The scene baffled Shirou – and he didn't even need to glance at Sakura or Saber to know they felt the same. "I n-need _results_, Athena!" The man rasped as he clutched his chest. "Reports, surveys, f-feedback, statistics… _Anything_ worth _something_ now!" He growled as he lurched forward again. "Contact Captain MacLeod. Tell him… Tell him we have no use for the insurgents or their information. T-Tell him to execute them _immediately_."

"Yes, sir…"Shirou saw one of the radio operators turn away with an utterly defeated expression on her young face. He looked around – everyone in the room was worried about the old man. Hell, _he_ was worried about the old man, and the old man was likely the one who had him brought here in the first place. But those wounds… They looked _painful_ - as though each breath was a labour for the middle-aged commander. He was leaning forward as he sat, his chest and shoulders heaving as he drew deep, ragged breaths… And yet, the chrome handgun was still in his hand. "Orders relayed. They'll be ex…" The operator wavered. "They'll be executed as soon as MacLeod gets the order, Commander."

"Good," the man in the bloodied suit spoke. "And stop calling me _'Commander'_ – I don't have a rank anymore. I just have a name," he spoke, his voice laced with agony. "Pull the results of the Simulacrum Project and the theses for dampener use, Specialist," he grumbled sourly. "Athena, retrieve the debriefing of Operation Icebreaker. The rest of you, get me the reports on the people in these pods."

"Results of the Simulacrum Project are ready, sir," the communications specialist spoke up, a look of unease still evident on her features. "Attempts 0-0-1 through 2-4-4 were all unsuccessful. Attempt 2-4-5 yielded _some_ form of result, but it just pulled a blob of meat and skin out of nowhere. Despite arduous retrials and retests, all Simulacrum entries are considered failures. The Simulacrum project itself yielded no results so far. Researchers are considering archiving the data and abandoning the project altogether."

"Their r-reasons?" The dying man inquired.

"All possible theses on the recreation of a technological simulacrum of the Holy Grail were proven wrong. They're stumped, sir – they don't know what to do anymore. They're low on resources, low on morale and low on options. Chief Researcher Hanlon believes it would be of more use to direct their attempts at stabilizing the subjects being prepped for stasis."

"They're that d-despondent, huh…" the man mused as he clutched his chest. "Give them the all-clear. Tell them to start on treatment and preparation as soon as possible. How are our casualties looking, Specialist?"

"Numerous, sir." The specialist's eyes flitted back and forth across the screen of her console as her fingers jetted at the keys. "We've lost several teams over the last few months – latest casualties were the two dispatched for Icebreaker. No Fuyuki casualites. We do have positive feedback regarding the VIP we found earlier, sir. It's likely she was tied to this… this 'war' you're talking about. She was attacked by the priest a while back, sir. She's been stabilized and placed into stasis – Demigod's ID'ed her as one Bazett McRemitz. She's currently in the fort under Section F-30."

"Who found her?"

"Same men you ordered into stasis in D-15," the specialist grinned. "Shadow Unit found and extracted her before her wounds could kill her. They were intercepted by more Dusk loyalists, but…"

"But Shadow Unit's a bunch of total badasses," a random soldier said with a smug grin.

"Indeed they are," the specialist smiled. "You'll be happy to know that those four managed to take out all thirty of the loyalists and managed to successfully exfil from Fuyuki."

"They're in stasis now?"

"Yes, sir," the specialist responded happily. "That's the end of the report, sir. Apparently feedback on the _theses_ for the dampener application was unnecessary – we've got effective test results streaming to us right now."

"Now? _Already_?" The dying man's eyes widened. Shirou wondered what could cause him such shock – and what these 'dampeners' really were. "How did we test them?"

"Some of the magic practitioners were… less than cooperative during prep for stasis. Some of them fought back with magic each time the narcotics wore off. Researchers and medical staff at the different forts saw no choice but to apply them. The –"

"H-Hold that thought, Specialist," the man heaved slightly. "Athena, I want the report on Icebreaker. _Now_."

"It's already come through, sir," Athena smiled timidly as her fingers darted across the keyboard. "Panther unit moved on the church and witnessed the last few seconds of battle between the servant Lancer and the servant in gold. According to analyses on the radio traffic they were discovered by the golden servant shortly after. Five of the operatives were killed on sight, and the other three managed to get as far as the suburbs before we lost contact with them. Codenames Panda, Magnum, Vixen, Hunter and Methane are confirmed K.I.A. Codenames Boxer, Dart and Wraith are M.I.A. Our hopes for their survival are… dismal, sir."

"What about Predator Unit?" There was a brief flicker of hope in the dying man's eyes as he glanced right at Shirou. He looked him right in the eye, and a mask of worry was plastered under the beads of sweat forming on his face. "Were they successful?"

"Predator Unit moved to intercept the priest Kirei Kotomine approximately forty-four hours ago, shortly after the servant Saber liberated her Master from the church," Athena spoke, and a sudden smug smirk appeared on her face. "They were just in time too – that fake was about to attack Codename Feline and escape with Codename Ice Princess," she glanced at the dying man. "Priest put up a helluva fight – engaged them for about six straight minutes with these long bayonet-like things before he needed to fall back. Codename Slug took off the priest's right arm with a shotgun, and he took one or two NATO rounds before falling back." She looked right at Shirou, and smiled warmly, the smugness on her face disappearing as quickly as it appeared. "Rin Tohsaka and Ilyasviel von Einzbern were successfully extracted from the Emiya household and are currently under narcosis in Fort Fulcrum in Europe."

Shirou felt every ounce of tension in his body evaporate.

Rin and Ilya were safe.

And the dying man was smiling widely at him, the first hint of radiance flickering briefly in his cold, almost lifeless eyes.

"But the operation wasn't without casualties, sir," Athena's sombre tone destroyed the dying man's good mood. "The golden servant started to pursue them." She frowned. "Chased them all the way to the mouth of the Mion River. They only _briefly_ stalled him through tactical use of a Javelin."

"So… Predator Unit is…?" The man seemed almost scared to say it.

"They're gone, sir. They held the line against the golden servant while the Osprey carrying Feline and Ice Princess escaped," Athena spoke with a soft voice. "They lasted just long enough for the Osprey to exceed the servant's maximum range. We lost Vipers 1-3 through 1-5 as well, and codename 'Hawk' was also killed after scoring two shots against the servant."

"I… see…" The dying man seemed moved. The arrogance and stubbornness he'd been displaying had almost vanished from sight. "I… I'll have their f-families tended to."

"Predator Lead had a message for you, sir," Athena spoke with a sorrowful smile. "He asked that you have his pay for the mission split between the families of his men." Shirou felt his jaw slacken when he heard that. The mercenary that lead the team to save Rin and Ilya – the man who lead the charge against _Gilgamesh_ and the man who was, for all intents and purposes, a hired killer – was selfless enough to do something like that? "Predator Lead had no family, sir. He thought this would be the best way to compensate him," Athena smiled. "He also asked that you drop the 'asshole act'," she chuckled as she gazed at the screen. "He said you're way more likeable if act normally." Shirou turned his gaze toward the old man in front of him, and as expected, saw that he was absolutely speechless. The man's jaw hung agape and the chrome handgun threatened to slip from his grasp. "Comms cut out after that," Athena said sorrowfully.

The dying man seemed agitated. His hand gripped at the arm of the leather chair he sat on and he was fidgeting with the handgun's firing hammer. He closed his eyes – for what reason, Shirou did not know – and exhaled before yanking himself out of the chair and onto his feet. A few guns clattered to the floor as guards stood in complete shock, trying to figure out just _how_ a middle-aged businessman was withstanding four bullet wounds. The dying man opened his eyes and gazed around the chamber. He stared into the eyes of every guard, nurse and operator in the room. "You… You're all relieved of duty. Go home and tend to your families. Your money has been transferred to the s-specified accounts." He continued to stare at each of his 'employees'. "You had no reason to stay. I treated you all horridly – I did my best to alienate all of you. I wanted you to dislike me. I wanted you to _hate_ me… and it seems I succeeded. I know each of you would take the chance to kill me without a second thought," he spoke as he started to walk towards Shirou, placing the large handgun on one of the consoles. "But you didn't. You stayed despite my arrogance and irrationality. You stayed despite losses and trials. You stayed despite the threat that Predator Unit faced." He gulped. "Such loyalty… Is not what I expected. You stood by my side, however grudgingly, until the very end. _This_ is that end." His eyes had lost the vibrancy they held minutes prior, but in the slowly fading eyes there was a determination that rendered even Shirou speechless. "You fulfilled your contracts without question and without complaint. For that, I thank you… And… I apologize, for acting as immaturely as I did."

The guards in the room looked as though they had been punched. Gone was the contempt and jovial ignorance they had when Shirou woke up. Each of them stood, stunned by the dying man's words. "As much as it might not seem like it," he spoke, "it was an honour and a pleasure working with you." The dying man was smiling. "You may take your leave – I pray you enjoy the rest of your lives." And with that, he descended the podiums and stopped in front of the three open pods. First he gazed at Shirou. Then at Sakura, and finally at Saber. The staff, mumbling among themselves, slowly filtered out of the circular room – some of them bidding the dying man a hearty salute, others casting him a final look of confusion just before they disappeared through the doorway. In the end, only Athena remained, standing loyally at her post despite being relieved of duty. "I meant you as well, Athena."

"I'm not leaving you to die, sir," she spoke with a determined expression. "You need _some_ support for this last stage of the plan." The dying man smiled slightly at her words.

"True that… Then leave me for ten minutes. I need to speak with them alone."

"You won't _last_ ten minutes, sir." Athena seemed annoyed. Her hardened features quickly devolved into a frown as she glared daggers into the dying man's back. "This isn't the time for some kind of testosterone-fuelled bravado."

"It's everything _but_ that," the man smiled as he turned to look at her. "You've trusted me through everything, Athena. I ask that you trust me with this as well." He chuckled as he turned back to face Shirou, his hand still clutching the wound on his chest. "I will survive this. I promise."

Athena scoffed. Even now, she seemed less than convinced. But her eyes told a different story – Shirou could see trust in her eyes; the same kind of trust he'd see in Saber's every now and then. "You've got ten minutes, sir." Athena sounded more like an older sister now. "When they're over I'm coming back in, whether you're ready or not." With a huff, Athena turned and strode towards the exit. "You know how to handle the controls, right?"

"I've learned _some_ science-speak, Athena. Don't worry." The dying man smirked at her. Athena took this as the only confirmation she needed. With a regretful look, she turned away from the wounded man and left the chamber, leaving nought but silence in her wake.

"You must have a lot of questions," the dying man spoke as he strode over to Saber's capsule. "We have ten minutes," he smiled. "I'll answer as much as I can in that time, no matter how laughable they may seem. I owe you that much, Shirou Emiya." Shirou's eyes widened slightly. The fact that the man knew his name with such direct certainty bothered him a bit. Just how long was he watching them? "But first… I need to rectify this," he spoke as he stopped in front of Saber's pod. "Are you hurt, dear?" He asked timidly as he gazed at the scab on her shoulder. "Do the effects of the Clamps still linger?"

Saber seemed taken aback. Her weary eyes shot wide open the moment the bloodied old man stopped in front of her. She quickly glanced at Shirou, her face showing discomfort and unease. He didn't blame her – the man was caked with blood and barely standing upright. Saber swallowed uncomfortable as she kept her gaze on Shirou. It seemed almost as like she was asking him what to do – should she be quiet and ignore him, or should she answer and be honest? The latter seemed like the better choice to Shirou. The man seemed trustworthy – he'd save Rin and Ilya, after all. He was undertaking a massive gamble by placing even a _bit_ of trust in the walking corpse before them, but the man seemed harmless. Steeling himself, Shirou nodded at Saber, signalling that it was all right.

Saber turned back to the man before her. "It… It d-doesn't…" Her speech was still affected by fatigue. She was slurring slightly and her pronunciation was a bit under the weather. "But… I feel… I feel weak…" She rasped. "…I feel _wrong_…"

The dying man nodded slowly. "Yes… That is the Subsidium at work," he spoke, drawing a questioning look from Saber. "I don't know all the details myself. The magic practitioners in the research department claimed it was some kind of 'placebo' to stand in for the magical energy you'd normally get from him," he said as he nodded at Shirou. "Should keep you in good shape during stasis. More than that… I'm afraid I don't know."

"I… I don't like this… I don't like feeling like this…" Saber exhaled the last word as she slumped. "It feels wrong…"

"I know, dear," the dying man said ruefully. "I intend to fix that problem right now." He strode to the compute panel next to Saber's pod, and his fingers started hammering at keys on the touch-screen keypad. He seemed to be stressing more as he progressed – his shoulders were tensing and more sweat was forming on his brow. "Try not to panic too much – it'll all be okay in a moment," he said as he rapidly entered commands into the system. After a brief moment, he tapped what resembled a large green button, and before Shirou could even register what was happening, Saber's capsule had started to close, tilting backwards to allow Saber to lay down.

"Wh-what is this?" Saber panicked. Her eyes were flitting everywhere – up, down, left, right. They fell on Sakura, they fell on Shirou, and with every passing moment her breathing was accelerating.

"Saber!" Shirou lurched forward in his pod, struggling against his restraints with all his might. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"I am easing her discomfort," the dying man said softly. Her pod was now completely horizontal – the hatch was hovering a few feet above the pod itself, and the mess of wires connected to her were humming slightly. "I need you to relax, Arturia." Shirou's heart stopped for a brief second when he heard the dying man utter Saber's real name. "This will ease your discomfort."

"Wha… What… What will you do?" Saber glared at the man, her face contorted into a sneer. "What are… What are you planning?"

"Nothing devious, dear," the man smiled. "I am simply going to let you rest. The discomfort will go away and you'll enter a dreamless sleep… And when you wake up, Shirou will be right there by your side, waiting." He smiled as he continued to tap the touch pad. "I promise you… Nothing bad will come of this." He said as he turned back to face Shirou, a warm smile cementing the first appearance of true emotion on his face. "Your 'queen' will be safe, Shirou. I promise." And with that, he tapped the green button again."

"_Subsidium connection: secure,"_ a robotic voice spoke over the speakers in the room. "_Stasis activation requested for Pod number 0-6-9, subject: Pendragon, A., Classification: Servant."_ The voice continued to mumble as the blue fluid in the tubes began to accelerate into Saber's body at a quicker pace. "_Subsidium circuit connection: Success. Circuits present: Six. Inducing Subsidium-dependent narcosis. Please stand by."_

"Wha… What the…" Saber started to panic again. That alone spurred Shirou into action. He struggled against his bonds, gritting his teeth. He heard a faint tapping sound next to him, like iron tapping on iron, and just fleeting, he gazed at Sakura's pod, just long enough to see her struggling against her own bonds, however futile it seemed. "Senpai…" She whispered in a panic, tears welling at the sides of her eyes. "Wh-what's he doing to Saber-san?!"

"I'm letting her rest, Sakura." Sakura stopped squirming with a soft yelp when the man addressed her. "I just told you."

"Wha… Wha… I don't… I…" Saber's movements were becoming sluggish, her panic evaporating by the second as her efforts against her restraints became weaker and weaker. "I… What is… What is… this…" Her eyes were fluttering open and closed as she started to settle down. Shirou could see genuine confusion plastered on her face as the 'narcosis' the speaker spoke about took effect. Her speech was reduced to a few mumbled phrases and gasps as her eyes came closer and closer to closing completely.

Finally, her struggling stopped. Her mumbling and groaning fell silent. Her body was still and her breathing was, for the first time in a while, absolutely normal. She was fast asleep – just as the man said she'd be. "_Subsidium-based narcosis complete. Preparing for stasis."_ The robotic voice spoke. Slowly, the hatch descended from its perch above Saber's pod, fitting perfectly on the ellipsoidal gap in the capsule and sealing Saber inside. Shirou had tried to struggle – he wanted to press against his bonds and try to break free. But he saw something before the hatch closed.

For the first time since encountering Gilgamesh in the church, Saber had a peaceful smile dominating her face. "_Sealing process complete. Subsidium torrents active. Commencing stasis procedure" – _and with that, the window on the hatch of the pod misted up, and Saber was hidden from view.

"I was serious, Shirou." Shirou was slightly taken aback when the man called his name. The dying businessman still stood with his back to Shirou, but he could tell there was a smile on that blood-soaked face. "I would never hurt her. I _could_ never hurt her… Not after I've seen the feelings you have for each other." That comment took the wind right out of Shirou's sails. He'd learned not to trust everything you're told – the Grail War ensured that. But this man… He'd saved Rin and Ilya, ordered to have the snipers who hurt Saber executed, and now swore that he simply _could not_ hurt Saber. Despite every fibre of his being _screaming_ at him to be cautious, _something_ inside Shirou told him he could trust this man, even if he didn't know his name.

"_Stasis activation complete. Preparing for dampener application. Standing by for administrator input."_

That one sentence, however, caused the man to tense up. His hands started shivering even worse and Shirou could _see_ his knees shaking, even if they were hidden by the lavish business suit. This… This seemed to be something that bothered the old man greatly. There was bright text on the screen in front of him, neon-blue and frighteningly imposing: _Commence Dampener Application? Y/N_. "Shirou…" The man suddenly spoke up, turning to face him with an expression so serious it made him flinch. "Is there a deity you believe in?" The question took him by surprise. What did it matter? Why would that be of any importance now? "A simple yes or no would do," the man smiled again.

The 'trust' started to die down. Shirou was scared - terribly scared. The serious expression, the trembling hands, the shaking knees and now the question of whether he believed in a deity – what was he getting at? "I… Uh…" His mouth was suddenly numb. A feeling of discomfort crashed into his body as he watched the dying man. He was fidgeting with his collar, and in a flash, he was clutching an ornate silver cross in his hand. Shirou locked eyes with him again – there was fear there. Lots of fear. So much fear it made Shirou go pale. "So? Do you?" The man asked again. He tried smiling – a futile action in the shadow of the fear in his eyes. Shirou's voice had left him. He couldn't speak. There was something about this scene that just screamed '_Wrong!' _and '_Don't!_', but he couldn't will himself to speak. He was worried about Saber – worried about what might happen if they proceeded. Absently, Shirou nodded, focusing on the capsule where Saber slept.

"Then start praying, lad."

The sentence made Shirou gasp. The man's finger carefully pressed the "Y" button on the screen, and tapped the green button.

"_Administrator authorization retrieved. Commencing with Dampener Application to Subject Number Seventy-Seven of Pod 0-6-9. Name: Pendragon, A. Callsign: Dragon Lady. Stand by for phase results."_ The man started backing away. Shirou saw him slump back against one of the consoles on the outer platform; his eyes were closed, his head hung downward and his right hand clutched at the cross with such strength that blood was dripping from his clenched fist. He was mumbling something under his breath – was he praying? "_Phase One complete. Initiation complete. Commencing Phase Two. Attempting dampener nano-insertion via Subsidium channels. Please stand by."_ The man's demeanour was crumbling by the minute. He was still praying, but –

"_Nano-insertion through Subsidium channels failed. Phase Two failed. Initiating fallback operation. Commencing surgical insertion of complete dampener. Please stand by."_

Shirou felt the strength leave his body as sounds of drills and other machinery echoed from the capsule. He saw Sakura gasp loudly and avert her eyes, gritting her teeth as tears finally started streaming down her cheeks. The machines were cutting into Saber while she slept – and Shirou was powerless. He couldn't move, he couldn't scream, he almost couldn't _think_; he saw blood flow into the tubes leading out of the capsule and he could _swear_ he heard some kind of saw hit bone. His heart hammered in his throat and panic set in – he could feel tears stinging at his eyes. She'd been shot, shocked, hung there like a marionette and experimented on and now they were cutting and sawing and drilling into her, after the dying man practically _swore_ he couldn't hurt her. Shirou turned to glare at the bloodstained businessman – he was hoping to scream at him, swear at him, make him feel like the lowest piece of dirt imaginable…

But the he saw the pained grimace on his middle-aged face.

He saw the grimace, he saw the hands desperately keeping the ears closed – and he saw the tears dripping from the man's nose.

That didn't fit. It didn't fit at all. Shirou kept staring at the shocking sight before him, even after the drilling sounds eventually died down. Seeing the dying man crying as the machines dug into Saber's body wrenched Shirou right out of his anger, and left him stunned, at a loss for words and – for a few moments – almost oblivious to his surroundings. When Shirou had finally shaken off the shock, the sounds coming from Saber's capsule had already died down. "_Please stand by…_" The robotic voice echoed throughout the room again. "_Fallback operation… Successful. Dampener Insertion complete. Finishing procedure. Please stand by."_

The result blindsided Shirou. The dying man in front of him almost fell over – he grasped the console in front of him to steady himself as an inaudible gasp escaped his lips. "_Procedure complete,"_ the voice filtered through the speakers. "_Awaiting further instruction."_ The dying man took a moment to recompose himself, wiping his face with a clean part of his sleeve as he did his best to stand upright again. His condition was worsening by the minute, Shirou could see – his eyes were misty and his skin was pale, and his body shook in pain with each breath he took… and for a moment, Shirou wondered whether the 'promise' this man had made to Athena was a lie from the start.

His attention snapped back to the man when he started to walk to where Shirou and Sakura were suspended in their pods. He faltered a bit when he reached behind the console in front of them and pulled a chair closer, but the blood soaked man persevered, dragged the chair to the pods and took a seat. "You… You must have questions…" He asked, breathlessly, almost _life_lessly.

"…You can't be serious…" Shirou couldn't stop himself from speaking. "You're… You've been _shot_ and you still want to… Are you…?"

"I've been shot, yes," the man nodded. "Shot by the person I once called a brother… Because he wouldn't stand for this."

"…Are you…" Sakura's voice was so soft Shirou only _barely_ heard her. "…Are you going to… to…"

"Die?" The man asked with a sad smile. "Yes, dear… I'm going to die. Rather soon, by the looks of it," he said with a ragged voice. "But I'm ready for it… I've done everything I needed to do – some of it even went against my morals, but I did it." He sighed. "My name… My name is Conrad Myburgh. I'm the one who's… responsible for all of this."

"What is 'this', anyway?" Shirou asked. He tried his best to lace his voice with venom – he tried his best to hate the man in front of him… But he couldn't. The man saved Ilya and Rin. He managed to ease Saber's discomfort, and he looked almost heartrendingly sad when he did that whole 'dampener application' thing. "Why are you doing this?"

The man, Conrad, chuckled softly. "I doubt you'll believe me, Shirou… but I owe you answers. Try to suspend your disbelief for this – please. Even in just for a moment," he sighed as he started looking between the two of them. "You're both Masters in this war, no?" He asked. "Shirou has Saber and you, Sakura, had Rider, if I am not mistaken?" He paused for a moment, waiting as Sakura nodded slowly with a fearful look in her eye. "Then you are both familiar with magic… Tell me… Do you believe in visions?" He asked, and paused again. Shirou was the first to nod – he had experienced more than enough in the war. Visions seemed _mundane_ compared to the things he'd been exposed to. Sakura nodded as well, still wary of the bloodied man. "I had a vision," Conrad spoke after both of them nodded. "A vision of something that very few people choose to believe." He seemed almost sad as he spoke. "The end is coming – and it is far closer than you might think."

"The end?" Shirou whispered as confusion spread across his face. "What do you mean 'the end'?"

"There is a cult, in existence," Conrad spoke slowly, his efforts to fight his pain showing on his face. "They call themselves the 'Burning Dusk'. They're led by a madman, and operate in secret using worldwide events to cover their operations. Our latest update regarding them told us they used the wars across Africa to cover deals and operations – so not many people know of them."

"And you think…" Shirou pondered for a moment. "You think they're connected to this 'end' you saw?"

"I don't _think_ so, Shirou," Conrad smiled. "I _know_ so. One of their figures appeared in the vision… laughing as the world burned." He frowned and gripped his side with one hand. "We… We have reason to believe they've been gathering ordnance, Shirou – nuclear ordnance. They've been operating since the end of the Second World War, so it's likely they have a lot of stockpiles – and going by the vision, I believe that they'll strike soon."

"But why do they want to… to destroy everything?" Shirou asked with a perplexed voice. "And why are _you_ doing _this_?"

"The leader of the Dusk," Conrad spoke with closed eyes, "is insane – _beyond_ insane – but he's charismatic. We don't know much about him – hell, we don't even know if it's a 'him' in the first place. The only thing we could gather from his soldiers was something that disturbed us greatly." Conrad frowned. "Somehow, someway, he's convinced that God is speaking to him. He believes ending the world is His divine will – and he _will not_ relent until he's either dead or successful."

"But…" Sakura still had a fearful look in her eyes, but to Shirou's relief she was calming down. "What does that have to do with us?"

"Your roles lay in what happens after the end," Conrad said, his face getting paler by the minute. "The Dusk will succeed – they will end the world as we know it… But they won't manage to destroy _everyone_. They don't have nearly enough nukes for that. There _will_ be survivors, and those survivors _will_ take up arms against the Dusk. But without able help… Without people like you," he nodded at Shirou and Sakura, "and without the last remaining servant in the war… they will die."

"People like us… People who know about magic?" Shirou asked, understanding finally hitting him square in the face.

"And people who practice it," Conrad nodded. "I have taken fifty thousand people from across the world – magi, soldiers, scientists, _everyone_ who could add to a better future after the end – and I've placed them in forts like this one," he said as he looked around. "These forts will burrow underground and wait. The seismic tremors from a nuclear onslaught will set off a timer – and when that timer expires, these forts will surface again and set you all free into the… the _new_ world."

"… How is that even possible?" Shirou asked, stunned. Technology of that standard was still _years_ away. "How did you manage this?"

"My family is… _was_ a wealthy one," Conrad said with a sad smile. "Our riches came all the way from the early 18th century. I… I expended every bit of that wealth trying to make this all possible. When the vaults ran dry I started falling back on our investments – I sold businesses, properties, deeds, jewels, _everything _I possibly could to acquire the money to pay for this." He sighed. "My family has been fighting the Dusk for years. They _never_ assumed the bastards wouldn't try to obtain nuclear ordnance – so they invested in this. We've only been working excessively on this for the past fifteen months… Since the visions started." He said grimly. "The expenses were… phenomenal. Hundreds of billions of pounds, thousands of man-hours, hundreds of prototypes and failures and wasted resources… but in the end… You're all here. The dampeners are successful. The Subsidium – something I thought was _destined_ to fail – has been proven to be true," he said softly. "And yet… I have so many regrets. I regret that this burden fell on me. I regret acting like a monster, believing that would make the people I hired work even harder in a bid to get away from me as soon as possible. I regret tearing my own family apart for this. I regret that I could only secure _one_ servant, even after I promised myself I'd intervene after the failure of the Fourth War my sources witnessed so long ago. I regret… I regret shooting the man I called a brother. I… I regret killing him so I could continue with this," he said, every word laced with sorrow. "But there's one thing I regret more than any of those."

"…And what's that?" Shirou asked, curious about whatever this man Conrad could regret more than the loss of his family and his best friend.

"My greatest regret is that I have to ask you all to shoulder this burden," he said softly. "After seeing everything you've been through… Everything you've lost and gained… I am tearing it all away from you, in a bid to make you fight the enemies I failed to stop." Shirou realized with shock that Conrad was crying again – tears were steadily streaking down his face. "I have no right to do this, you two… I have no right to put you through even more trauma than you've experienced. I have no right to drive more obstacles into your path. I know that – I've known it since I decided to take action far earlier than intended. This was supposed to take years more… You were all supposed to live long, happy lives… I've taken that from you now. I knew I was taking it from you all along," he said as he stood up and walked up the steps to the centre console. "…And it has been tearing me apart inside, every minute since I made the decision." He gulped. "I know it sounds clichéd… But… You people… You, Sakura, Rin, Ilyasviel, Saber… You're our last hope. No matter how much I tried to deny it, no matter how much I tried to _spare_ you… I realized you were my last efforts to stop them." He quickly started typing on the keypad of the console.

Shirou was dazed. He was torn between being downright livid, and being understanding. This man Conrad was throwing them into something without even making sure they'd survive – and yet, no matter how calloused or indifferent his words sounded, doing so was trampling him. Shirou faintly recognized the sound of hydraulics springing into action, and steel grinding on steel as a large, thick door of steel descended in front of the entrance to the circular chamber. "_Lockdown initiated. Preparing lower drilling systems for descent. Warning: There are still unsealed pods. Please seal them and initiate stasis in the next fifteen minutes."_

"Wha… What are you doing?" Sakura's voice went a pitch higher as Conrad sealed the door of the room. "H-How will you get out?"

"I won't," Conrad said with a sad smile. "I have no hope of making it to a hospital in time." He smiled at her. "Besides, I have nothing left anymore. I have secured you and Shirou – I have secured Saber and Ilyasviel and Rin, along with many other magi and capable people. That was all I could do. I have no money, I have no friends… My own family left me because of this," despite the sad tone of his voice, he was smiling as he walked over to the two pods. "Our time is running out. I cannot answer any more questions… I… I will die soon," he said as he started tapping different keys on the console in between them.

_I will die soon_. The words made Shirou's throat dry up for some reason. Even now Conrad was trying his best to make sure whatever he was doing was successful – despite the four massive wounds he'd suffered. "I… I want to hate you," he said softly as he looked at Conrad. "I want to curse you, struggle and try to attack you despite everything…" He said with a weak voice. "But… I… I can't… I don't know why, but I just can't…" Shirou gulped as he spoke. "I can't hate you… I can see this is difficult for you," he said, and despite his efforts to hide it, a small, barely noticeable smile spread across his lips. "So I'll make it easier… I'll do as you're asking."

The shock was evident on Conrad's face as the dying man stopped in the midst of typing on the keypad, looking over at Shirou with an absolutely stunned expression. "I'll wake up… After this end you're talking about… I'll wake up, and I'll help against this cult." _I will…_ He thought determinedly as he looked at Conrad. "I'll help to stop this Burning Dusk… and I'll help everyone back on their feet afterwards… Because…" He gulped again in an effort to banish the dryness from his throat. "Because that's what a hero would do."

Conrad recoiled when he finally comprehended the words. The dying old man stared at Shirou with a look of pure shock on his face, eyes slightly wide as he regarded the boy, pondering what just happened. "I… I'll help too…" The old man's head spun to look at Sakura, who – despite still being pale and trembling madly – had a soft look of determination on her face. "I… I didn't want to fight in the war… I… Rider was given to Shinji… But… You're talking about something different. If you're r-right… Then people are in danger." She looked at Shirou. "I… I want to help too."

"_Stasis procedure initiated. Preparing to commence. Awaiting administrator input."_

The cold voice broke the silence left by the statements Shirou and Sakura had made, and Conrad shook his head before smiling at them, his eyes lighting up with unbridled joy and relief. "You…" He gulped. "You have no idea… I cannot thank you enough… I thought… I thought I'd face the Devil with your hatred on my shoulders…" He smiled as he started to tap keys on the keypad again. "I… I cannot thank you enough. I…" He stopped, a slightly ponderous look on his face, before reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a small flash drive attached to a chain. It was insulated in… _something_ Shirou couldn't exactly make out. "This… I was sparing this to be stored… In another fort… But I won't make it there," he said as he hung the small device around Shirou's neck. "If there are survivors… after the end… then this will be what defines you amongst them. This will help you fight the Dusk, Shirou Emiya," he said with a nod as he returned to the keypad. "Please… Relax now. Lay back and relax. I'm… I'm going to induce the narcosis now."

"_Administrator input acquired. Commencing with stasis. Inducing narcosis in three… two… one…"_

Shirou did as he was asked and relaxed in his restraints. He remembered his stay at the hospital – the narcotics would be kicking in any moment. As he waited he started to ponder – he wondered whether this Conrad Myburgh could be considered a hero despite what he was doing. He obviously didn't feel like one – the man's current state said as much… But Shirou still couldn't help but think that he _was_ a hero in some twisted way. Spending his life fighting a secretive cult bent on nothing but destruction, using up every resource he had access to in order to fuel that fight, and even pushing through the loss of his family – if his words were true. It seemed almost… almost…

The narcotics kicked in, and Shirou lost consciousness.

* * *

Conrad exhaled softly as he saw the lids of the pods close. The narcotics had taken effect mere seconds ago, and already the two young ones looked as though they were dreaming blissfully. "_Narcosis achieved. Proceeding with life support failsafes," _the cold, monotonous voice slid from the intercom. Conrad strode over to the centre console, hoping to God that Athena didn't have a way to override the lockdown. Loyal as she was, she_ had_ to understand he was a lost cause – you don't simply survive getting shot four times by something as monstrous as a Desert Eagle.

"_Life support failsafes operational,"_ the cold voice met his ears again. "_Preparing to commence dampener application via nano-insertion. Risk: High. Awaiting administrator input."_

Saber had survived getting a dampener inserted. Granted, it was through nothing but sheer luck, and Conrad would admit he had _never_ prayed as hard as he did when he authorized the procedure, but the fact stood that it _could_ be done. Saber… No, Arturia had proved it. Conrad smiled at the knowledge. The past few days he'd been observing her and Shirou, she'd proved to be every bit as tenacious as the legends made King Arthur out to be.

But Shirou and Sakura weren't King Arthur. They weren't servants. They were _human_. The risk was significantly greater.

He stopped, lurching forward and bringing his fist up to his mouth as a coughing fit shook his body and tore at the wounds Donovan's pistol created. His vision blurred for a few seconds, and the ever-disgusting sound of blood splattering on the floor ripped the silence in the absence of the mechanical voice to shreds. He felt his life slipping away – he didn't have much time left. He needed to get this done – there was no time for doubts, or prayers or hopes. Only action – and consequence. Closing his eyes, he authorized the application of the dampeners and queued stasis to be initiated shortly after.

He had barely lifted his finger off the 'Y' key when he felt his legs start to give in. He tried stumbling back, hoping to get as far away from the pods as possible, but it was in vain – he missed the step leading to the raised centre of the array of computers and consoles, and felt himself fall backwards, tumbling off the elevation as his head slammed against the iron wall, dazing him and sending another wave of pain ricocheting through his body.

"_Dampener application complete. Nano-insertion successful. Please stand by for status update,"_ the mechanical voice rang in his ears, slightly distorted. It pulled him from his dazed state, and Conrad sat up, pushing his back against the wall as he eagerly awaited the results. This was it. For better or for worse, after hearing those results he could stop fighting.

"_Subject Number Seventy-Six of Pod 0-6-8. Name: Emiya, S. Classification: Magus. Callsign: Blacksmith. Condition…"_ The voice seemed to pause – if he hadn't known it was a machine Conrad would _swear_ the machine was messing with him. "…_Stable_," the voice finally stated. Conrad slumped slightly – Saber had survived, and now her lover had been stabilized too. He wasn't sure if Saber would even remain in the world until the stasis wore off – but he had his hope. "_Subject Number Seventy-Five of Pod 0-6-7. Name: Matou, S. Formerly Tohsaka, S. Classification: Magus. Callsign: Hestia. Condition…" _It paused again. Conrad snorted, ignoring the pain. 'Hestia'… Trust Athena to come up with something like that. "…_Stable_."

Despite the pain and the bleeding and the holes and chips in numerous bones and organs, Conrad started to laugh. The final leg of the operation was a success – Shirou Emiya, the Servant Saber and all their loved ones were safe in the forts that he… no, that his _men_ had created. The hope, the fear, the numerous all-nighters and scathing glances, they all paid off.

He had done his part.

He smiled as the laughter died down in his throat, and his good arm once again reached for the inside of his jacket. If death would permit him a few more moments, there was just _one _more thing he wanted to do. His fingers curled around a square plastic object, and with a grunt, Conrad pulled a phone from the inner pocket. It seemed he wasn't as much of cosmic plaything as he had thought – there was a chip in the side of the cover from one of the bullets, and the phone itself was sticky with dry and wet blood, but it still worked. His eyelids were becoming heavy – he had to do this quickly. He quickly navigated to the list of contacts, and hovered over the entry named 'Angel' – Dana's number. His daughter's number.

He knew she wouldn't answer. He didn't want her to answer – he didn't want to speak to her in his current state. All he wanted was to leave a message – to tell her that, despite everything that happened, despite everything that changed in him and around him, the one thing that always remained constant was his love for his daughter. That was _all_ he wanted to say. Drawing a breath, he hit 'Dial'…

…And frowned when a beeping sound met his ears, the words 'No Signal' flashing across the screen.

_Of course,_ he thought dejectedly as he lay back against the wall. This wasn't one of those fancy military phones – and in a few moments, the communications of this fort would cut as well. There was no way he could reach her now. A sad, broken smile spread across his lips as he heard the mechanical voice drone on about the stasis commencing. Even on his deathbed, the fates still toyed with him.

And he had a sinking feeling that he deserved no less.

Maybe… Maybe it was for the best, he thought. Even if Shirou and Sakura complied… After what he did, he didn't deserve any last wishes. The phone fell from his hands, landing on the cold steel floor with a loud _clack_. He couldn't leave a message for his daughter… But he felt content. He'd done what he'd set out to do – he'd secured hope for when the end came. It tore him apart on the inside and cost him everything he'd ever held dear…

…But he had succeeded.

That was all that mattered, he thought, as the blackness started to worm into his vision and the coldness of death started to seep into his body. With the last remaining bit of his energy, a smile flitted across his lips. Shirou accepted the fate forced upon him – the Dusk would fail.

That was more than enough for him.

He wasn't going to fight anymore.

He had _succeeded_.

He could keep his head held high as he strode through the gates of hell, and laugh as he took his punishment with open arms.

And with those thoughts, death claimed him.

* * *

_**Four Months Later**_

Birds danced overhead as a lone woman sat and gazed at the magnificent view before her. Steam slowly drifted upwards from the rim of the Styrofoam cup in her hand, and with a glance down, she swished the coffee with amusement, a sad smile on her face. She'd been sitting around doing nothing for the past four months – nothing, except travelling around the world, seeing the sights and basking in the wondrous views and landmarks while she still had the chance. She needed an excuse to quit from her former post, anyways – she couldn't face the family she used to work for. Not anymore.

Four months passed since her last operation ended.

Four months passed since her commander, the one man who she was _always_ loyal to, locked her out so she didn't have to see him die.

Four months passed since she relayed the news of his death to his family.

Four months passed since her dead employer's wife found the combination to his safe, and found every bit of information he had on the 'Burning Dusk', found out she was wrong, placed a pistol to her own temple and pulled the trigger.

Four months passed since her dead commander's daughter suffered a mental breakdown and got booked into an asylum.

Four months passed since she had last been called Athena.

She shook those thoughts from her head. It wasn't her fault – her former comrades told her as much. But she still felt guilty. She fell for it when Conrad Myburgh told her he'd be 'done in ten minutes'. She hammered at the sealed door with her fists, hacked every nearby control terminal she could find, screamed, cried, and did _everything_ in her power to get that door back open… but it was in vain. Four months ago she knew that, once those doors sealed, they would not open until the timers expired.

But four months ago, she refused to believe it.

Even now, as she sat in the shade, sipping warm coffee and gazing at the marvel called the Eiffel Tower, she still had trouble wholly believing it. For four months, the faces of Jeanette and Dana Myburgh flashed through her mind, and she'd often keep telling herself that she could've done something to save Conrad.

She took another sip of her coffee and looked up at the tower before her. Soon, very soon, it would fall – soon everything would fall… and as vile and heartless as she thought it was, she wished 'soon' wouldn't take so long to arrive. While she travelled, she made sure to spend her time in different countries as close to any wonders and landmarks and political structures as possible. Once, when she'd visited Vatican City, a kindly old gentleman found her sitting on a bench at one in the morning. When he'd asked her what she was doing, she simply replied: "Waiting."

For what, she didn't know – at least not back then. But now she knew…

Just like Conrad and his wife Jeanette, her regard for her own life crumbled away.

She was waiting for death – and she was growing impatient. Every morning she hoped she could receive a sign – a news broadcast of a nuclear catastrophe, a civil war sparked overnight, hell, even a nationwide panic would have been sufficient; that way she'd know the end was near.

But she was never that lucky.

At least, not until that day.

When the rumbling finally reached her ears, she dropped her cup, hardly wincing as the boiling liquid splashed onto her feet, and sprang up from her seat. She'd only been assigned to mission control while working under Conrad, but that was enough – she _knew_ what a faraway explosion sounded like. She dashed to an open area where she could see into the distance – even if she had to squint, it would be enough. She quickly found what she was looking for, though – what seemed to be a city's worth of panicked Frenchmen and tourists stood in a clearing, pointing off to the distance and screaming, panicking and losing their minds. The smarter ones started fleeing – allowing her just enough of a clearing to get to the front row.

She almost laughed.

There in the distance, the sky was tinted amber as a bright light shone forth from a distant town. It was immense – the quakes, despite the blast occurring _miles_ away, shook under her feet and behind her, car alarms started going off like firecrackers and the people stumbled to regain their balance. The light died down almost as suddenly as she'd seen it – and in its place, a blanket of black smoke large enough to be seen even from right under the Eiffel Tower, and right at its centre, a mushroom cloud large enough to rival the size of the very tower she'd been marvelling at hardly a minute ago.

This time she heard it clearly – another loud explosion sounded in the distance, and behind the mountains lying on the horizon, another portion of the sky turned a bright gold as a light peeked out behind them. Another explosion sounded off to her left, and even more light emanated from wherever the bomb fell. Three so far – it had finally started.

She barely realized she was standing alone now. The crowd she'd forced her way through when she heard the first explosion had scattered, screaming and crying and running for their lives. She smiled – and tasted a tear that rolled into her mouth from the corner of her upturned lips. It was wicked of her to smile at such a time, but she didn't care – for four months she'd been waiting for this day… and now it had finally arrived.

She slowly turned around again, and looked towards the sky. She saw the object she was looking for there – a bright glint in the blue sky, like a shooting star flicking across the heavens during the daylight. That, she'd bet, was the one heading for Paris – that was the one that would finally end her recollections of her failures.

Her failures… Yes, she'd had a lot of those… Conrad, Jeanette, Dana… But she'd be able to rest soon. As morbid as her thoughts sounded, she smiled at them – no more torturous memories, no more nightmares, no more guilt regarding Dana Myburgh… none of that. Like Conrad… She'd finally be free. As the shooting star descended, she wondered when exactly she'd adopted such a hopelessly terrible mindset – but it didn't matter anymore. She could see the missile now – it was going fast, but she could still make out the shape. That was good enough. In scant seconds it would obliterate Paris – and her along with it.

She didn't realize exactly _how wildly_ she was crying until she tried wiping away her tears – they were streaming too fast for her to halt… and yet despite that, she was smiling; smiling at the fact that she'd finally get some rest after all the fuck-ups in her life. Losing men to the Dusk, getting caught and tortured by their ranks, being saved by Conrad's friend Donovan, letting Conrad himself die, and then leading to Jeanette's suicide and Dana's guilt-driven insanity… Finally she'd be able to forget about that. At least for a while.

A glint was all the warning she received – the missile was scant seconds away from impact. Time around her seemed to slow as her heart hammered in her chest. She closed her eyes as her voice poured from her mouth, forming her last words. "I'm sorry… All of you… I'm so sorry…" she mumbled as she braced herself.

She hardly heard the bomb go off. For a brief moment, a fraction of a second, searing agony gripped her body, tearing at every muscle and every little millimetre of flesh on her body.

Then there was nothing.

* * *

**A/N: And it's done. Finally the prologue is over – and I can start on the real 'after-the-end' section of the fic. Just a quick ****note****: This **_**is**_** an After-The-Apocalypse kind of story. As such, there will be a whole load more OC's to come – but I **_**promise**_** none of them will be as messed up in the head as Conrad (or Athena). I've also tried my hand at keeping several canonical characters like Bazett around, as a decent refresher from the swarms of OC's this story is going to be putting out. **

**Like I said last chapter, I **_**am**_** still new to the FSN fandom. As such, I'm not sure whether I'm portraying Shirou and Saber in a canonical, believable way. I have absolutely no excuse for that – I just pray that the way I **_**did**_** portray them is good enough for the fans of FSN who frequent this site. Still, any critique on the way they're portrayed here will be **_**greatly**_** appreciated. **

**Well, that just about wraps it up. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter,**

**Until next update, this is Chaos, signing out. **


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